


Know I Think You're Awesome, Right?

by princesshalo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A pinch of homophobia in one scene, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Bottom Louis, But other than that basically everyone is LGBT, Casual Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, It's more like very strong annoyance to love tbh, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Punk Harry, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 60,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesshalo/pseuds/princesshalo
Summary: “Well, that’s not veryTreat People With Kindnessof you.”“Neither is approaching someone with the sole intent of criticizing a cause they’re clearly passionate about, given the amount of time they’ve dedicated to advocating for it,” Louis snaps.“Sure, but I’m not the one with the button,” Harry shrugs.“So, is there actually something I can help you with, or did you just come to push me into pepper spraying you as well?” Louis is quickly growing impatient. Hell, he was impatient the moment that Harry made his grand entrance on campus yesterday.“I’m just trying to assess the environment here,” Harry says, “Because if this is all you’ve got to offer trans people who just want to be able to use the bathroom in peace like the rest of us, then I’m not sure I fit in.”“Allow me to save you the trouble, then: you don’t.”~Based on the prompt: a college AU where Louis is a hippie, very good vibes activist and Harry is a punk, anarchist that always gets involved in violent protests.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 66
Kudos: 420
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the latest (unbeta’d bc I’m too private or insecure or whatever) dumpster baby of the author formerly known as larryshares!
> 
> I might have strayed a teeny bit from the prompt in terms of characterization, but I hope the story is enough to keep you entertained regardless. Especially you, mysterious prompt submitter. I hope this meets your expectations. x
> 
> **Disclaimers/warnings:** none of the characters with celebrity names are mine. Rated for graphic sex as well as drinking, smoking, some violence and language. Title from Lorde's Homemade Dynamite. 
> 
> Lastly, while there are no gory scenes or major deaths, (I personally think it's very light considering the current U.S. climate, but) this story still deals with some pretty sensitive subject matter so just brace yourself for the PC-ness I guess. You might not want to read if you disagree at all with the BLM movement or tend to hold more conservative views.

**H**

It’s only a couple weeks into the first semester when Harry arrives at URI, but he still really wishes his transfer from community college to University could’ve gone a bit smoother, or at least been finalized on time. It’s bad enough that he had to switch things up halfway into his four year degree, but the fact that most of his classmates had already begun to settle into their school routine left him feeling even more like a fish out of water.

High School Harry thought he was so cool for skipping class to smoke weed under the bleachers instead of actually giving a damn about the trajectory of his future.

College Harry is different, though.

College Harry studies, College Harry listens to his elders and discusses with his peers, College Harry started thirsting for things that stirred the passion within him and so College Harry decided to march down a path of justice and reform that High School Harry would’ve laughed at him for even beginning to consider.

And as College Harry is making his way back to his city apartment just beyond campus after his first full day of classes, he comes across a crowd of people gathered outside the main administration building. A few of them have signs that say things like _We will not be erased_ and _Trans Lives Matter_ , which catches his attention right away because they’re right. And because if people have to spend their free time protesting for equality here in the great state of Rhode Island, then maybe he made the biggest mistake of his life in choosing a school and a city that’s not as LGBT friendly as he’s used to.

He pauses around the edge of the crowd at the back, having to stand on his tiptoes to see all the way towards the front of the spacious gathering. There’s a colorfully expressive queer person standing front and center, telling a story about what it’s like to fear for your safety every time you so much as think about using the restroom in a trans body.

Harry really has to strain his ears to make out exactly what they’re saying, though. So he maneuvers his way around to come up from behind the speaker, off to the side a bit, where the crowd is thinner and the angle a bit skewed, but at least the sound is much better.

“Hey,” one of the guys standing beside the speaker makes captivating eye contact with Harry as he leans over to say, “Just checking to make sure everyone is aware that this is a peaceful protest.”

He’s got such pretty blue eyes with long lashes, a face that’s soft and delicate yet somehow also rugged with its light stubble and high cheekbones, topped off with a swoosh of caramel brown hair across his forehead. He’s just in a tan tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up, some plain blue jeans, and a pair of matching buckled sandals, but he has a few interesting buttons pinned to his chest to draw Harry’s attention. One’s a little enamel rainbow flag, another is a wiry golden peace sign, and the final is a simple circular thing that says _Treat People With Kindness_.

Harry quirks his head to one side. “Am I disrupting that somehow?”

“Just getting ahead of things,” the guy says, gaze scanning him from head to toe.

He must have seen the video of Harry’s activities last week. It’s been all over the news, at least for those who follow social media trends. And he’s absolutely sure it’s what this guy is referring to, because far too many of Harry’s friends and acquaintances have sent the links to him at this point.

He didn’t even do anything that revolutionary. He was at a BLM march and saw a couple of colleagues being provoked by some cops, so he stepped in front of them and attempted to intimidate the uniforms back. That got him pepper sprayed in the face, and although it was far from the first time he’d taken a hit in the name of justice, this time someone happened to film and post it online.

The fact that it gained a bit of attention was rather upsetting, considering his current predicament’s proof that it completely disregarded his personal safety; not to mention that the cause itself wasn’t meant to focus on white people’s experience to begin with, but that was a whole other issue to unpack. At the end of the day, it’s not like Harry stopped by the current protest to start spitting in people’s faces and throwing punches or something. He was just standing there like anyone else.

So Harry looks the guy in those pretty blue eyes of his and says, “Good to know. I was just about to ready my pitchfork.”

The stranger narrows his eyes, obviously unimpressed by Harry’s joke. “Do you even know what all this is about?” 

“Well, I do have enough brain cells to infer that it’s something related to a trans issue,” Harry says, “So I’m guessing the law that just reached congress to revoke their healthcare rights?”

Stranger’s mouth tightens into a line as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Not even close,” he says.

“Oh, back off, Lou,” the girl to Harry’s left steps in to offer her explanation instead, “We submitted a petition to get some gender neutral bathrooms added on campus, but it was denied.”

She has beautiful brown skin, a big curly afro, and despite her casual clothing her makeup is all done up and she looks pretty enough to be a model.

“Thank you,” Harry smiles back, eyeing the one she called Lou from his peripherals, “And I think that’s bullshit, so it seems like my gut was right to lead me here.”

“I’m Ephrata,” she introduces herself with a hand outstretched for him to take. “Call me Ephie. And don’t mind Louis, he’s just really passionate about the cause. About every cause, really.”

“Harry,” he shakes her on it.

“You’re clearly new here,” she notices.

“Just transferred from MassBay,” he confirms.

“Well, welcome,” she smiles, “We saw you trending for BLM last week. That was fucking brave.”

“Just doing my part,” he brushes it off, leaning in closer and lowering his voice to a whisper as he nods towards Louis who’s already turned back around to the speaker again, “What’s his deal? Like… situation wise.”

“Is he single?” She translates, “Why? Unnecessary aggression gets you going or something?”

“He’s very nice to look at,” Harry admits with a chuckle.

She rolls her eyes, but it’s light hearted. “Well, if he’s seeing someone he hasn’t told me about it.”

“Let me rephrase,” Harry considers whether he’s even interested in men, although the rainbow pin would be quite misleading if not. “Could there ever be a shot in Hell for me?”

She simply smiles and says, “You should come to the QSA meeting tomorrow. We do all kinds of events like this, if you’re interested.”

“I dunno,” he says, “Aren’t those things usually pretty straight-cis pandering?”

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t like it, but it is an easy way to meet like minded people,” she persists, “We’ll both be there.”

She nods towards Louis, who’s turned his full attention back to the megaphone speaker now.

“Alright, you’ve talked me into it,” Harry shrugs. 

He’s never joined a campus club before, but maybe College Harry could stand to be more involved. It’s a whole new ball game, after all.

**L**

Thanks to some kid who had a slew of unnecessary questions in his last lecture, Louis is running a little bit late for the weekly QSA meeting. Which doesn’t reflect well on him as the Club’s Ambassador, but at least he can be sure that Ephie’s done her part as backup to keep the other participants occupied in his absence.

They are already waiting by the time he arrives, along with a few new additions. That’s to be expected within the first few weeks of a new school year, although most of them won’t end up lasting long term. They’ve built a solid little group of regulars since Louis’s first year on campus, so he can really only count on the same familiar faces in terms of longevity.

One of these three new people catches his attention immediately, though. It’s the punk kid who crashed their protest yesterday, and his glassy green eyes linger on Louis just a beat too long for comfort.

“Hey, Lou! Come meet our new recruits!” Ephie waves him over to where she’s acclimating the newbies. Bless her, really, for being such a warm and welcoming light to everyone she meets. Except in this moment, to this particular person. Fuck her for that.

“Good to have a proper introduction,” the punk flashes a perfect smile framed by a set of dimples on either side, “I’m Harry.”

Louis looks him up and down without even an attempt at subtlety. He’s got on a pair of tight black jeans with holes in the thighs that are held together by safety pins. Those jeans are stuffed into a pair of Doc Martens with silver spikes decorated around the petals of purple roses painted onto them. His black Ramones t-shirt is so worn it looks like a mild form of Swiss cheese, and he’s completed the look with a black pleather vest that has far too many buckles on it to even be functional.

He would have a nice head of wavy curls if he hadn’t shaved the sides down into a fucking mullet, and Louis won’t even get started on all the jewelry in his ears and his nose, for Christ’s sake, is that a septum ring?

Despite his many questionable fashion choices, Louis did have to admit that the smile was pretty nice. The dimples were pretty cute. The eyes were pretty sparkly. And the arms? The creamy skin and defined biceps and all the random tattoos? Very interesting.

None of that stuff matters, though. What matters is that the video evidence of this guy spitting in a cop’s face nearly unprovoked suggests his principles are completely out of line with everything Louis has ever known this club to be. And he’ll be damned if he lets some rebellious newcomer poison it with his continued presence.

“Welcome, all of you,” Louis deliberately avoids responding directly to Harry, instead addressing the three new faces as a group. “My name is Louis Tomlinson, your QSA Advisor, and I sincerely apologize for my tardiness.”

“Unacceptable!” Zayn shouts from his chair at the back of the room.

“Give us a little jig to repent for your sins,” Niall adds, laughing at his own joke.

“You first,” he retorts, knowing they’ve both got the rhythm of a paper bag floating aimlessly in the wind.

And to be fair, so does he.

Grateful for the distraction, though, he hauls his things to the table setup in front of the whiteboard at the head of the room.

“No, me first!” Ephie interjects, settling into her second chair seat and jumping into the daily rundown of related campus happenings.

“So, although we have had some setbacks in the very recent past, I’d like to start with the announcement that we’ve got the greenlight to start planning for our Queer Prom this winter!” She pauses to allow the cheers from her peers to die down, “Our first step is to pick a theme, so start brainstorming some ideas, submit them to the nifty little box I’ve crafted for you by the door, and we’ll all vote on the favorite next week.”

“Prom is still a thing here? Isn’t that sweet,” Harry chimes in with some commentary no one asked for.

“It’s not an official school event, but that little galaxy brain over there suggested it to make up for the fact that many of us were excluded from or just plain tarnished at our high school dances,” she gives a nod towards Liam who smiles and waves towards the newbies. “This will be our first year trying it out, so let’s do our best to make it a success!”

“Thank you, Ephie, we appreciate your energy as always,” Louis smiles over at his colleague before he takes over next, “I’d like to thank everyone else for showing up at yesterday’s demonstration. We haven’t heard back from the dean as of yet, but as per usual, we’ve gone ahead and issued some flyers to be hung around campus, which will also be left by the door today. I’ll be sure to keep you updated with further details on our next course of action.”

The meeting continues after the updates with a discussion on some queer happenings in the media and at home; everything from law to which celebrities have come out recently to personal venting and observations. Louis will always be happy to put this club at the top of his extracurricular list, because beyond feeling like they’re having a genuinely positive effect on campus, the little community they’ve created within each other has become such a constructive, safe place that his heart can’t help but swell with pride.

Normally they’d have the new members introduce themselves at the beginning of the meeting, but most of them had ample time to get to know each other before Louis arrived, so by the time the club clears out it seems that the three of them have already adjusted on their own.

Harry included, because he waves all his new groupies out of the door ahead of him so he can approach Louis alone instead.

“Just a quick question for you, if it’s not too much of a disruption?” He asks as Louis shuffles the loose leaf papers from the table back into his bag.

“Something tells me it will be, but go on,” he says.

“Just wondering what the purpose of these flyers is?” Harry holds one up from the short stack he’s clutched to his chest.

Louis blinks, dumbfounded that he’d have the audacity to ask something with such condensation in his tone.

Two can play at that game, though.

“To raise awareness, obviously,” Louis answers like it’s shameful that Harry couldn’t come to such a logical conclusion on his own.

“And the point of raising awareness?” Harry follows up, “I mean, without taking any further action?”

“So that the next time we do organize a protest or a sit-in or other event around campus, anyone walking by will actually know what it’s about, should they wish to join in uninvited,” Louis looks him pointedly in the eye this time.

“In fairness, I probably wasn’t even here when you advertised the last event,” Harry tries to defend himself.

“Mm,” Louis acknowledges, “Probably busy agitating some officers or looting some stores elsewhere.”

“That’s a bold leap to make,” Harry says.

“Is it, though?” Louis counters. “I saw your little video. You’re so clearly the type of person who gives all activism a bad name.”

“Well, that’s not very _Treat People With Kindness_ of you.”

“Neither is approaching someone with the sole intent of criticizing a cause they’re clearly passionate about, given the amount of time they’ve dedicated to advocating for it,” Louis snaps.

“Sure, but I’m not the one with the button,” Harry shrugs.

“So, is there actually something I can help you with, or did you just come to push me into pepper spraying you as well?” Louis is quickly growing impatient. Hell, he was impatient the moment that Harry made his grand entrance on campus yesterday.

“I’m just trying to assess the environment here,” Harry says, “Because if this is all you’ve got to offer trans people who just want to be able to use the bathroom in peace like the rest of us, then I’m not sure I fit in.”

“Allow me to save you the trouble, then: you don’t.”

“But doesn’t it just make your blood boil?” Harry continues on with his seemingly aimless point anyway, “The trans rights issue, not some stranger possibly not wanting to join your club.”

“That’s precisely why I’m fighting to change it,” Louis counters.

“Change doesn’t really happen by asking nicely, though,” Harry says.

“So I should, what, throw a brick through the dean’s window or something? That’s more effective than gathering voices to back me up when I ‘ask nicely’, as you’ve put it?” Louis scoffs. This kid has been here for what, a whole week, and he suddenly thinks he’s qualified to tell Louis how to run the organization he’s been directing for two years now?

“I’m just saying that doing things by the book isn’t the only way,” Harry argues, “Especially when the book was written with the goal of keeping things in neat, inoffensive order.”

“Thanks for your insight, but I don’t really think this is something that requires an ally’s opinion,” he snaps the front of his bag shut and tucks his head through the loop to rest it on his shoulder.

“Well, you’ve just made all kinds of assumptions about me then, haven’t you?” Harry quips.

“Some things aren’t that hard to assume,” Louis takes the opportunity to excuse himself now, purposely brushing past the annoying punk on his way out the door.

**H**

Harry’s never been one to back down from a challenge easily. As a matter of fact, it’s quite the opposite. He tends to see obstacles as things to be overcome or be pushed back against. It’s the rebel in him still begging for an outlet, especially since he forced himself to reign it in the tiniest bit in the name of his education or whatever.

But the fake radical club leader with the stick up his unbelievably hot ass towards Harry’s unconventional methods of protest? A blinding target.

“You’ve all sworn he’s a good guy, but I seem to be missing something,” Harry says around a mouthful of chicken caesar wrap in the dining hall later that week. It turns out that being the new guy at school was actually the least of his concerns, considering Ephie inviting him to that meeting has already led to more than a few potential friendships blossoming overnight.

Niall, who happens to be in Harry’s Econ class, is also apparently Louis’s roommate. He’s the type of guy who seems to know everyone from all different walks of life, including edgy and stoic Zayn who goes all the way back to middle school with Louis, and Liam who wiggled his way into their little group just last year. 

“Honestly, I’ve never heard of him being so confrontational,” Niall stuffs a bite of pasta into his mouth, “Maybe that’s the wrong word cause he’s never been afraid to use his mouth, ya know. But he’s usually a lot more chill. Welcoming.”

“I have no objections towards using his mouth on me in other ways,” Harry jokes, “But even that seems like a lost cause, considering he thinks I’m just an ally.”

“You?” Zayn snorts a laugh. “You with the septum and the painted nails and the fucking bi flag tattooed on your arm?”

“It’s just a rose piece,” he shrugs, “And none of those things are exactly a dead giveaway.”

“The roses are pink, purple, and blue, though,” Liam observes.

“Maybe I just like the colors,” Harry suggests. He’s not entirely sure what to label his sexuality, honestly, but he rarely finds himself interested in people who present as anything other than male, so that one doesn’t feel quite right either.

“Those things aren’t a giveaway individually, sure,” Niall agrees, “But all together on the same person? Plus seeking out the QSA club within your first week at a new school? Some bells are going off.”

“Seriously, I would never peg you as a straight man,” Zayn says.

“A straight man’s fragile masculinity would never allow that anyway,” Harry quips.

“Clever,” Zayn winks. “I can’t say what Lou’s deal is, but he’s missing out.”

“Thank you, Zayn, I appreciate that,” Harry smiles.

“Well, you guys obviously share the same passion for justice, it’s just manifested in very different ways,” Liam weighs in, “So maybe like… let him do things his way? Just to get in his good graces.”

“I shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not just to impress somebody,” Harry scoffs at the idea, although he might be willing to play nice for a while. It is advice straight from the mouth of one of Louis’s closest friends after all, so he would be wise to take it.

“That’s true, but it’s Louis we’re talking about,” Niall says, and the others nod along.

“He just needs to be respected,” Zayn clarifies. “And you’ve been anything but that so far.”

“How have I been disrespectful?” Harry drops his jaw.

The responding stares from the three of them highlight it for him. Maybe on day one that argument would have worked, but Harry can see how approaching him after the meeting with nothing but criticism was a little out of line. 

“Fine,” he huffs, “I guess it can’t hurt to try keeping my mouth shut for once.”

“I mean, there’s plenty of other options for you to pursue around here, too,” Niall reminds him around a mouthful of food.

“You trying to tell me something?” Harry waggles his brows in innuendo.

“Not a chance,” Niall laughs, nodding towards something behind them. “They might be, though.”

Harry looks briefly over his shoulder at the table of girls behind them. They’re all dressed in dark clothes and leather studded jackets with heavily made up faces. Each of them has chosen a different bright color of hair and he can count a minimum of six facial piercings between them all. Two of them avert their gaze when he turns around and the one in the middle just gives a little smile and a wave. Harry waves back out of politeness, then turns his attention back to his group.

“I’m so tired of that look,” he says, taking another bite of his food. He’s obviously making a joke, although it is rooted in truth. Despite his own risky fashion choices, he’s never specifically gravitated towards the same type. He quite likes the contrast of being with someone outside of the typical expectation, actually.

Two jaws hang open as they stare him down in disbelief, and Niall just laughs as he clearly gets it.

“I mean, it works for me, but rarely anyone else,” he shrugs.

**L**

“Prom submissions are officially closed, so you’ll find each of the original ideas posted on the board behind us,” Ephie announces at the next Wednesday meeting, motioning to the whiteboard behind them to proudly display the list she’s compiled with space left next to each suggestion for counting the tally marks.

“Everyone take a moment to read through it and consider what speaks to your little queer hearts,” she says, “Then, after announcements, we’ll all come up to the board and place our votes.”

Since she’s in charge of the recreational side of things while Louis handles the more politically focused events, even he hasn’t seen the anonymous suggestions until just now. He reads through the list for himself: rainbow paradise, old hollywood, fairytale, fire and ice, masquerade, steampunk, vampire ball, and disneyland. Some of them are pretty cool, others kind of lame, but it’s all so fucking gay in a way that makes his heart soar.

He’ll probably cast his vote for fire and ice. He’s instantly loving the idea of the whole room split into two different sides, all the icy blues and bright reds and oranges mixing together in a vibrantly clashing yet cohesive array.

“Thank you, Ephie, for all your time and efforts as usual,” Louis smiles, turning back to address the room as a whole, “Moving on, some of you may have already heard there’s going to be another BLM march in Providence next weekend.”

The only reason he looks so pointedly in Harry’s direction is because he’s widely known for causing trouble at such an event, so Louis wants to make sure to convey the message that there will be no funny business under his watch.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches into a smile that’s far too pleasant and accommodating as Louis goes on.

“The gathering begins at Central High at 12pm and we’ll be marching all the way to the State House, where we’ll be able to hear some personal stories from those personally affected by the movement. Ephie and I will be manning a booth in Burnside Park with some pre-printed signs for Breonna and George, some neat little anti-white supremacy buttons, along with a few informational pamphlets for those who’d like to know how else to get involved beyond public events.”

“We’ll also be taking donations and volunteers to help hand out snacks, water, and first aid kits to passing protesters,” she adds.

“Of course we’d love to have you all attend as a group, but we encourage you to get your personal circle of friends and family involved as well. The more the merrier, in this case,” Louis builds on her, “And I do have the obligation to make note that this is meant to be a peaceful march, so anything against that would obviously be taking away from the cause.”

“Please just be safe and don’t be afraid to come to either of us with any concerns on how to do so in these situations,” Ephie alternates, “We have some helpful advice guides on how to prepare and what to bring posted on the bulletin outside the door, by the dining hall, and on our social media as always.”

“That being said, unless anybody else has something to add, we can go ahead and proceed with the prom planning,” Louis says.

“I do, actually,” regrettably, it’s Harry who stands up to address the room with his own announcement, “I just wanted to formally share that I managed to get the dean’s approval to move forward with the gender neutral bathroom initiative.”

A few people gasp in shock, followed by a couple of hesitant claps.

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s huge!” Ephie grins, “How the hell did you manage that?”

Louis has been trying to get that in motion since the start of the semester, but the dean refused him upfront and has declined any further meeting requests since then. So for Harry to march in out of nowhere and get it approved in barely more than a week is depressingly impressive.

“I’m actually quite charming, believe it or not,” Harry grins as he explains, “I happened to run into him at a bar the other night, off campus of course. I had no idea who he was, I was just making friendly conversation, you know? But we got to talking about some personal stuff, which led to, um… basically, he was willing to hear me out.”

“But the budget,” Louis wonders out loud, because that’s the excuse he’s been met with at every turn. It would simply cost too much to add even a single restroom that would accommodate everyone. Or even to remodel any of the existing ones, apparently.

“Yeah, that was his main concern,” Harry says, “I’ve taken some financial management courses, though. I’m not an expert or anything, but I did have some ideas. So, all I really had to do was secure a meeting in a sober environment and he promised if I could devise a low budget breakdown of remodel costs, he’d be on board.”

“So what have you come up with? Because I’ve obviously tried to work that angle myself, with zero luck,” he’d be lying if there wasn’t a tad of personal offense thrown in there. He’s charming too, after all. Apparently just not as much as Harry.

“I mean, rather than converting every facility on campus, I’m just focusing on a few of the more centrally located ones,” Harry explains, “So there’s going to be less of them than the binary restrooms, but—

“It’s still more than we’ve ever had before,” Ella chimes in, officially starting off a slow clap for him.

The fact that some random punk who’s barely gotten his feet wet at this school was able to waltz in and accomplish such a huge milestone is only mildly annoying. Based on the applause, the rest of the group seems to disagree, though.

So Louis participates in congratulating Harry’s contribution. He places his pen on the table and gently taps his hand against his other palm to join in, albeit with minimal effort. 

“Right, then,” Louis clears his throat to move the meeting along, “Anyone else?”

He waits for a few more beats of silence for anyone to chime in, and then Ephie takes the lead to direct the prom theme voting. They all line up to mark a tally next to their pick, and it turns out to be a pretty even match between fairytale, vampire ball, and fire and ice. The rest of the ideas do have a few ticks beside them, but then Marshal is the last to add a final tally to Louis’s pick, making it win by one single vote.

“Well, that was exciting!” She cheers with a quick clap of her hands together once. “Looks like Fire and Ice is our winner! We’ll form our official committee next meeting, so start brainstorming ideas for what you’d like to do and things you’d like to see at the actual event and come prepared to jump right into planning. See you all next week!”

Louis is always the last to leave the room in case somebody has something they’d like to speak with him in private about, and it seems like Harry is already beginning to use it to his advantage.

“You picked my theme, you know,” he grins.

Louis rolls his eyes. “I picked what sounded the most fun.”

But, dammit. He really was hoping to avoid doing exactly that.

“Just thought you should be aware that you apparently think I sound more fun than anyone else,” he waggles his brows.

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis groans, “It’s not a popularity contest.”

“For your attention? Certainly it is,” Harry says.

“Goodbye, Harold,” Louis hints, waving him towards the door.

“Bye, Louis,” Harry sings as he slings his bag over his shoulder and practically prances out of the room.

*

“Come on, Lou,” Niall whines later that weekend.

Louis had planned to stay in and catch up on his Global Anthropology homework, seeing as how it’s his least favorite required course and thus he’d let himself fall too far behind to keep making excuses anymore. But the problem with weekend studying is that there’s always a party happening somewhere, and his roommate does have a knack for being very convincing when he wants to.

“When was the last time you came out with us?” Niall prods.

“Literally the weekend before last,” Louis laughs, “It has not been that long.”

“Feels like forever, though!” Niall insists. “You can’t let your whole college life pass you by while you’re stuck inside studying all the time.”

“I do not study all the time,” Louis rolls his eyes, “I study when I need to. And I know that you’re painfully unaware of this, Nialler, but that’s exactly how you keep your grades high enough to graduate.”

“You know what they say, though,” Niall nudges him in the arm, “C’s still get degrees.”

“As if I’d ever let myself get a C!” Louis feigns shock for the dramatics, although he does wholeheartedly mean it. He doesn’t come from a wealthy enough family to slack off like that. He’s lucky his scholarship pays for the large majority of his educational necessities, and that his mother is able to cover the rest without much struggle.

Because of that, he does make an effort to devote at the very minimum an hour or two of his weeknights after class to nothing but schoolwork, though. So letting loose on the weekends isn’t too hard to justify alongside his determination to not become one of those burnouts who pisses it all away on dorm parties and DUI’s. It’s all about balance.

“Exactly,” Niall emphasizes. “So get your best sweats on and come to the freakin’ party.”

It’s not as if he was entirely committed to staying in that night anyway; just that he didn’t go out of his way to make other plans until Niall burst into his room prattling on about some frat party his latest lady friend hoped to see him at.

And Louis doesn’t usually get mixed up in all that Greek life business, but his friend needed the moral support. And the frat houses were known for throwing ragers. And he did already give up his Friday night festivities in favor of schoolwork.

So, is he upset about ending up on the outer edge of a breakdance circle in the middle of the Kappa Sigma living room with a freshly bubbling solo cup of vodka Redbull in his hand and no clue of where his little blonde buddy had run off to with that very same lady friend? Quite the opposite, he’s actually a bit buzzed about it.

And then he happens to bump into someone who’s a little too tall, curly, and delinquent to be deserving of a spot even in the furthest corners of his mind.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Harry grins, tilting the edge of his own cup to his lips.

“At a fucking campus party on a Saturday night? Not really,” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Touché,” Harry laughs too big and loud, like Louis just told the killer joke for his evening comedy set or something, “Guess it’s just my pleasure, then.”

“Oh please,” Louis says, “Why would you be happy to see me?”

“Have you seen yourself?” Harry raises his brows, giving a quick up-down scan of Louis from head to toe and back to his eyes. Harry has very nice and pretty green eyes, he thinks. But that could just be the two shots he tossed back a few minutes ago starting to kick in.

“I do own a mirror,” he fires back.

“Then you already know what I mean,” Harry’s grin only seems to grow, despite the levels of sass Louis is trying to radiate in the hopes of deterring him.

“You are so…” he gives Harry the same visual assessment, although with more of that obvious distaste that Harry seems to perceive as an invitation to approach for some reason. “Wait, you’re definitely coming onto me, right?”

“Was I too subtle?” Harry barks out another laugh. He is either a bit further gone than tipsy or just embarrassingly into this.

“It’s just, you, like,” Louis struggles to voice it in a way that remains sensitive to Harry’s identity.

“You assumed I was straight, I know. Very insulting, by the way,” Harry’s still grinning like there’s anything funny or amusing about this conversation. His teeth are so fucking nice and his lips are so red it almost seems like he might be wearing lipstick. Or maybe the overly sweetened jungle juice in the kitchen is his drink of choice for the night.

“I’ve seen the girls hanging onto your every word,” Louis says.

“Sure, but am I hanging onto theirs?” Harry counters. He’s looking at Louis in a way that feels far too intimate for his liking. Like there’s not even anyone else at the party right now, never mind the uproar happening all around them.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Louis shrugs, brushing past him on his way into the kitchen and away from whatever Harry’s trying to accomplish with that piercing gaze of his.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Harry’s voice follows him anyway. He slides himself right in front of Louis’s path through the other kitchen door, which leads to God knows where, but at least not here. “I’ve certainly noticed you.”

“No shit,” Louis quips, tossing back another big gulp of his own drink. “But in case I wasn’t clear enough with my, ya know, physically running away to escape you, I’m not interested.”

“That’s alright, we can just be friends,” he says.

“Also not interested,” Louis tries to side step around him, but someone else happens to swing the door open from the other side at that exact moment, causing Harry to topple forward and spill his cup full of bright red liquor all over Louis’s favorite white shirt.

He has four more exactly like it in his closet, but this is the most worn and cozy, and also the only one he brought with him tonight on account of not planning to have punch inadvertently splashed all over him by some imposing punk kid.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” Harry frets.

“Whoops,” the group of giggling blondes just slide their way past the two of them as if nothing happened.

“Yeah don’t worry about me, it’s all fine, not like you’ve offended anyone or anything!” Louis shouts behind them, then mumbles under his breath, “Fucking pricks.”

When he looks back again, Harry’s shrugging out of his stupid studded vest and pulling his faded Rob Zombie shirt over his head, “Here, take mine.”

“You’re actually giving me the shirt off your back right now?” Louis stares at the offering, then up to Harry’s chest, where he finds a glaringly lovely set of abs and oh, perfectly sculpted pecs, and are those a pair of nipple piercings as well? He swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“And is that a fucking butterfly on your stomach?” He asks instead.

“I am, and it is,” Harry grins.

“Why on earth would you do that to yourself?” Louis will admit that it kind of does complement all the other random drawings and symbols he’s got on his chest and arms, but only to himself. Because he is so not looking at this guy like that. And even if he is, it’s not like that means anything significant.

Harry shrugs, “I like butterflies.”

“You like butterflies,” Louis repeats slowly, looking him up and down again. This dude in the heavy boots and chained pants and studded vests likes butterflies?

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be all about advocacy and acceptance, you sure are judgmental,” Harry huffs, waving the shirt at him again, “Do you want this or what?”

Louis considers that for a brief moment. Then he snatches it out of Harry’s hand and holds his cup out for Harry to take while he quickly pulls his own stained fabric off and puts the new shirt on.

It smells like incense and something citrusy. He wouldn’t have expected it to be so nice, and that makes him think maybe Harry’s right about the judgement thing.

“Thanks,” he finally says. 

“You’re welcome,” Harry mutters, handing Louis his drink back and shrugging back into his vest as he turns towards the spread to refill his own empty cup.

Louis rolls his eyes, because now he’s gone and hurt the guy’s feelings. Which was admittedly his intention going into this, if only to keep him from trying to get Louis’s pants off too, but now it seems foul considering the gesture of kindness that was just extended to him.

“Harry, wait, I’m sorry,” Louis comes up behind him at the punch bowl.

“It’s fine, really. Please do not pity me,” Harry says, “I get it, we clash. I’ll live.”

“I haven’t really given you a chance, though, you’re right,” Louis admits. “I just saw that protest video and decided you weren’t welcome in my circle based on that alone.”

“Your circle doesn’t seem to think so,” Harry turns to face Louis, accusation thick in his tone, and lean his back against the counter.

“Yes, I heard you’ve been hanging out with Niall and the guys,” Louis says.

“Ephie and Ella, too,” Harry reminds him. “Everyone seems to like me except you.”

Louis squirms.

“And that seems to bother you a little too much,” he notices.

“Yeah, cause I happen to think you’re cool,” Harry says. “I’d get pepper sprayed by a hundred more cops if that’s what grabs your attention.”

“That’s not funny,” Louis says, but Harry just grins.

“It is to me. You’re so triggered by my brand of activism,” he smirks.

“It’s juvenile,” Louis says. “Grown ups use their words. Kids throw tantrums.”

“Adults should be allowed to throw tantrums when it comes to certain matters. Marginalization, to start,” Harry counters. “How can you blame someone for reacting violently to an act of violence?”

“I just think there are better ways,” Louis argues. “No one wants to listen to someone who’s kicking and screaming. They just want to calm them down.”

“The unfortunate truth is that no one wants to listen to someone who’s calm, either. They just want to keep them placated,” Harry says.

“Okay, well, this is where I tap out, then,” Louis says, “I came here to party, not to get into a heated debate about the morals of obtaining social justice and equality. Thanks for the shirt, though.”

Harry just laughs at his back as he storms off to look for someone who’s company he actually enjoys. Maybe first judgments aren’t always entirely off after all.

**H**

“He’s so hot, Zayn,” Harry whines to his friend much later on that night. He doubled down on his drinking after he scared off Louis again, and hasn’t stopped thinking about him since.

“You’ve said,” Zayn says, puffing at his cigarette. He’s the one who suggested Harry step out onto the porch for some fresh air, but now he’s starting to suspect it might have just been for his own benefit.

The gentle night breeze does feel nice on his skin, though. And there’s these tacky little tiki lamps lining the edges of the white painted wooden railing to give the whole area a warm little glow. There’s also a metal bench with some funky little cushions for Harry to sit on while Zayn leans against the house paneling.

“I want to suck his dick so bad,” Harry gushes, “And don’t even get me started on his ass. Fuck!”

“No one’s getting you started, you horny bastard,” Zayn chuckles, “You’re doing it all on your own.”

“He’s so fucking beautiful,” Harry keeps on anyway. It’s word vomit at this point, he just has to get it all out. He might never stop talking in that case. “And I keep making an ass of myself.”

“Not entirely,” Zayn says, blowing a stream of smoke off into the air. “You did give him your shirt. And I suspect you got the bathrooms approved just to impress him.”

“A happy accident,” Harry sighs, “Both times. I want him to like me so bad, it’s disgusting. I don’t know how to act around him. It’s disgusting!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you have a crush,” Zayn comforts, “Against our best efforts, it happens to the best of us.”

“There you are!” Niall shouts then, bursting through the front door and slamming into Zayn in one very quick instant.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Zayn curses, “You’re smashed too? Is this you guys’s first college party or what?”

Harry starts laughing at the same time as Niall, and the sound of their laughter mixed together just makes everything seem all the more funny. Niall leans against Zayn while he struggles to keep the lit embers of his cigarette away from burning his skin.

“I got my heart broken,” Niall pouts.

“You talked to that girl for like two weeks,” Zayn rolls his eyes, “You’ll bounce back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“What fucking girl?” Niall asks, “I’m talking about Julia.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Zayn groans.

“Who’s Julia?” Harry asks.

“The same chick he’s been obsessed with since our very first week on campus,” Zayn says at the same time Niall answers, “The love of my fucking life.”

It takes Harry far too long to calculate the two full years between then and now, the start of their third year.

“Well what happened with Julia?” He asks, hoping to settle the churning of his own stomach because maybe someone else actually made a bigger fool of himself tonight than he did.

“I just keep shooting my shot and getting shot down,” Niall whines. “She’s never gonna give me a chance. I should just move on.”

“Both of you are ridiculous,” Zayn says. “I’m cutting you off and taking you home.”

“Lucky us,” Harry winks. Niall snorts a laugh that seems bigger than deserved, but Harry will take it anyway.

“Harry, do you think you can keep it together for a minute? I’m gonna have to call Louis for help,” Zayn says.

“Why don’t you want him to call Louis?” Niall asks.

“Because he might be the love of _my_ life,” Harry lets out what might be the biggest sigh of his life, too. “So please do not let him see me like this. Where’s Liam?”

“He left early to rest up for his track meet in the morning,” Zayn says.

“Ephie? Ellie? Literally anyone else?” Harry hopes.

“Haven’t seen them in hours, man,” Zayn says. “It’s gonna have to be Lou.”

“But he hates me,” Harry groans.

“But he’ll help, because he loves me,” Zayn says.

“And me!” Niall cheers.

“Fuck off,” Harry snaps, making them both of them laugh for some unknown reason.

“Just don’t say anything stupid and you’ll be fine,” Zayn advises, as if that’ll help at all. It’s not like Harry’s been trying to put Louis off him so thoroughly. He just gets so flustered around him that he reaches for whatever comes to his mind first. And more often than not, it seems to be something Louis doesn’t want to hear.

“Your ass is back,” Harry says as soon as Louis greets the three of them in the tiki light glow.

Fuck.

“I mean! You’re back,” he quickly corrects himself.

Niall’s laugh is starting to grate on Harry’s nerves at this point, because his embarrassment in front of Louis, yet again, is not something to laugh about. Zayn just shakes his head in shame, while Louis curls his top lip in clear disgust that makes Harry’s stomach sink into his toes.

“So, obviously I can make sure this dipshit gets to bed,” Louis otherwise ignores Harry’s utterly idiotic comment and instead reaches to drape Niall’s arm over his shoulder to support some of his drunken weight. Harry’s gaze just follows the flex of Louis’s prime cut slabs of golden muscle as he does. “You got the other one?”

“Sure thing,” Zayn agrees, “Thanks for helping out.”

“No worries, I was getting ready to head out anyway,” Louis shrugs.

“Get home safe,” Zayn says.

“You too!” Louis waves as he steadily carries Niall down the steps and across the lawn.

Harry watches his butt until it’s too far away for him to focus on anymore.

“He is so fucking hot,” he sighs. Lusts. Yearns.

“You’ve said,” Zayn chuckles again.

None of this is very funny to Harry.

**L**

On Tuesday morning, Louis is sat in the middle row of his Social Theories class, and to both his surprise and disdain, none other than the mullet man of the century makes an unexpected entrance.

He tries to make himself scarce, but Harry spots him right away. He smiles and waves, but Louis is officially trying to avoid him now, so he turns his head the other way.

“I’m only sitting here because the other open seats are at the very back or the very front, and neither of those are my style,” Harry’s voice comes from the seat next to him. There’s one single desk worth of space between them and that’s still not enough.

“What are you even doing here this far into the quarter?” Louis wonders.

“Not all of my classes were available to transfer to this school, but mostly everything else was filled up by now,” Harry explains, “So this was the least boring subject with an opening.”

“What’s your major, anyway?” He follows up next. Something most people would usually have asked within the first few minutes of meeting someone on campus, and yet Louis hasn’t cared until it bled over into his own schedule.

“Poli sci,” Harry says.

“Political Science? You?” Louis gawks, “What do you plan to do with that?”

Everything Louis seems to find out about this guy is so far off base from anything he’d expect.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was thinking some kind of political consultant or campaign manager, maybe,” Harry says. And that is just fucking fascinating in itself, but then he goes on to say, “Lately I’ve been wondering about converting to a joint degree and possibly pursuing law? I just really want to help people on a larger scale somehow. I used to think politics was the answer.”

Louis just blinks. Harry is nothing if not an enigma.

“Well, this class will hardly help towards any of that.”

“Duh,” Harry says, “But again, the pickings were slim.”

Louis goes back to minding his own business, scrolling aimlessly through his Instagram feed while they wait for class to start.

“What’s yours?” Harry interrupts him again.

“My major?” Louis asks, “Sociology.”

“So like, a social worker?” Harry asks.

“Right now I’m thinking public relations, but I’d be interested in exploring case management or maybe social work, yeah. It’s a pretty versatile degree,” Louis shrugs it off, suddenly uncomfortable with delving out too much information to this person in particular.

“Public relations,” Harry hums, “Bold for someone who can’t even get the dean to give them the time of day.”

And yep, there it goes. That’s why he can’t stand talking to him for more than five fucking minutes without wanting to dish out a swift punch in the throat.

“Well, political anything is bold for someone with a bull’s ring in their nose and a fucking trucker haircut straight out of a low budget 80’s horror flick, who doesn’t seem to own a single pair of pants without holes in them, let alone a shirt that hasn’t been left to collect the stink of sweat and remnants of solo hand sex for longer than their entire fucking lifespan,” Louis completely rips into him. The nerve of this guy to come for his life choices when he probably doesn’t even have the brain capacity to consider looking at his own for a change.

Harry starts laughing. His whole body shakes with it. He just laughs for like a solid thirty seconds, and then it settles into a grin so wide it looks like it might break his mouth in half.

“That was fucking brutal,” he finally says, still far too amused for Louis’s liking.

“Plenty more where that came from,” Louis mutters, turning his attention to the front as the professor finally arrives to start the lecture.

“I sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, cannot wait to hear it,” he can practically hear that stupid dimpled grin still stuck on Harry’s stupid face.

*

Much as he’d love to not have to see or speak to or about Harry for the rest of his college career, all it takes is for Niall to mention something about the two of them having scheduled a gym session later on that week for his entire circulatory system to heat up.

“How are you friends with that guy?” Louis wonders. Niall is one of the sweetest, most genuinely loving and ‘just here for a good time’ people Louis has ever met. It doesn’t make sense for him to be friends with someone as provocative as Harry.

“He’s cool,” Niall shrugs. “You should give him a chance.”

“I’ve tried,” Louis says. “You know what he said to me today? Basically that it was bold to pursue a career in public relations because I’m shit at dealing with people.”

Niall snorts. “You’re not always the most eloquent person, Lou. You have to know that.”

He does know that, but he figures anyone who doesn’t like what he has to say or how he has to say it can fuck right off. Harry included.

“It is absolutely none of his business what I plan to do with my life,” Louis says anyway.

“Well, he’s never been rude to me,” Niall shrugs, “Maybe because I’ve never been rude to him either, but you know, just a theory.”

“Shut up, who asked you anyway?” Louis pouts.

“You two are so funny,” Niall says, “He’s like super into you, ya know. You just hate being challenged by anybody, and it turns out he’s really good at it.”

“He barely knows me,” Louis rolls his eyes, completely ignoring the way Niall’s got him so perfectly pegged after just a couple years of knowing each other, “He’s just into pushing people’s buttons.”

“He’s obsessed with you,” Niall insists, “He’d push every single one of your buttons if you’d let him.”

“Gross, Niall. Don’t talk about my buttons that way,” Louis bristles.

But he does have to admit that it’s kind of flattering. He hasn’t been very nice to Harry, with good reason, of course, but the idea that he might be secretly lusting after him anyway is quite the ego boost. Maybe he can learn to leverage that somehow.

**H**

Harry lives for a good protest. He’s always sure to do his part in other ways by promoting petitions, donating to causes, calling state representatives for the bigger issues, and generally using his voice against injustice when certain situations present themselves. Although he has proudly alienated a number of his own family and old friends for their blatant racism and other obnoxiously loud phobias, it’s not that he actively goes looking for conflict. Just that when things do happen to heat up, he’s hardly afraid to push back against it.

And he definitely sees the value in protesting peacefully. As long as things remain peaceful around him, it’s not like he’s going out to these emotionally charged situations and trying to start fights like a member of the corrupt police force himself.

So of course he would volunteer to spend a whole day alongside Louis, greeting and taking care of people who showed up to fight for the cause.

“No justice, no peace,” he nudges Louis with his elbow as he reads off the phrase printed on the lovely buttons that he and Ephie spent the previous night crafting in time for the event.

They’ve been at it for a couple hours already, and the enthusiasm has been amazing. Despite the somber notion of even having to show up and shout in the demand for basic human equality, everyone is in good spirits and that’s exactly what Harry loves about protesting. The media will paint everyone out to be some kind of blood thirsty animals, but in reality, it’s just a bunch of humans who care for each other gathering to ask that everyone else make an effort to care for each other too.

Standing right by Louis’s side while hardly being able to speak to him though, has been slowly crawling its way underneath Harry’s skin all day. So he has to say something, even if only to mess with him a little bit. At least he’ll be the focus of Louis’s attention for a portion of the day. He can only hope it lingers for longer than Louis probably wants it to.

“Justice is rarely obtained through physical force,” Louis grits his teeth as he takes the bait.

“Well, that’s just fake news,” Harry cites, “Stonewall, for one. MLK riots, storming of the Bastille? To barely scratch the surface.”

“Salt March, Suffrage Parade, Rosa fucking Parks,” Louis counters, not even sparking Harry a peripheral glance.

“Sounds like we’re in agreement that there’s some value to both ways of doing things,” Harry hums.

Finally, Louis turns to the side, blending blue and green as their eyes meet. Louis has such pretty eyes, it’s insane. His lashes are so long and his stare has the power to paralyze. Fuck. Harry could keel over in just this simple moment. But he won’t, because Louis’s actual words have even more power over him than that.

“We most certainly are not,” Louis snaps, “My argument is meant to prove that peaceful protests can achieve everything the violent ones do, without causing unnecessary harm.”

“Well, I’m confused as to why all this burning hatred is directed at me then, because based on that logic, you should be as furious at law enforcement as I am,” Harry points out, watching Louis’s brows furrow together as he does. “I stepped in when I saw someone being provoked with the intention of inciting physical violence. And because of that, they enacted those tools of oppression on me instead of someone who could’ve easily been killed for it.”

“Because you provoked them back,” Louis says. “Using your white body as a shield is one thing. Using it as a force is an entirely other thing.”

“I bullied the bully,” Harry maintains, “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would,” Louis says, “And that’s where the burning hatred stems from.”

“My willingness to fight where others choose to cower?” Harry counters. Then he watches as the veins straight against the skin of Louis’s neck. He would very much like to nibble on them ever so slightly. Wonders what that would taste like, what kind of sounds he’d be able to draw out of Louis’s mouth. Something so entirely opposite of the irritation usually present in his tone.

“I do not—” Louis sucks in a heavy breath, then lets it go. A clear indication of his struggle to maintain his composure while Harry’s busy figuring out which of his buttons elicit which reactions.

“It consistently amazes me how we can be the same age and yet you are still such a child in comparison,” he finally says.

“Twenty one is still quite young, Lou,” Harry smirks, because he’s never dared to call him that before. Only his friends do. “Might benefit you to loosen up a little.”

“And lower myself to your level?” He scoffs. “No thanks.”

Harry laughs, because Louis is so damn cute when he’s so riled up. And the idea that he’s the one with the ability to stir that in him is nowhere near as satisfying as he imagines being able to stir something else within him would be, but at least it’s something. At least Louis clearly has some kind of passion directed at him. Intense fury isn’t such a far trek from intense desire.

“You could lower yourself to any level you want with me,” he grins, watching Louis’s face as his jaw drops in the pure scandal of it all.

“Literally fucking fuck off,” Louis fumes.

Harry just chuckles again, satisfied by the idea that Louis pictured it even if only for a second.

**L**

Mostly everyone from the club did make an appearance. Louis even got a couple texts from those who were absent that they preferred to march with their other loved ones, but would be there with the group in spirit.

Besides one little encounter where Harry once again tried to instigate some kind of conflict between them and Louis once again had to shut it down before tensions began to run too high, the day has gone perfectly smooth. His very favorite part of organizing events is making a genuine impact, so even though this event in its entirety wasn’t his doing, getting to see each individual face of person who’s day was made by receiving a free pack of gummies or tucking a free resource pamphlet into their bag has him buzzing with energy to do even more.

So towards the tail end of the afternoon, as the sun is just beginning to consider moving into setting territory and the crowd has begun to thin out, they start packing the remainder of their equipment back into one of the borrowed university vans in preparation to actually join the parade.

“Thank you all for showing up to help assist the masses today,” he addresses the group, leading the metaphorical pat on the back in their favor.

“Let’s not forget what this is all about, though,” Ephie follows up, the two of them always so perfectly in synch, “Grab a sign if you didn’t bring your own and let’s go join the march!”

They all give a quick cheer, some of them unload the handmade signs they crafted for the occasion, and secure their packs full of water and other resources on their backs and around their waists.

Louis falls into step with all his dearest friends and summons every bit of willpower in him to not be bothered by the fact that Harry has somehow managed to weasel his way into their little group. The day isn’t about petty rivalry, it’s about banding together in the face of extremely major and relentless injustice.

It’s a lot of shouting and walking. He was already sore from standing for most of the afternoon, but somehow actually using his legs only ends up further inflaming his already aching calves. Not to mention his feet in his regrettably flat-footed Vans against the pavement.

But it’s not about that. It doesn’t matter how sore his voice is from shouting at the top of his lungs, because other human being, Black Americans specifically, are dying for no other reason than being black. It doesn’t matter that he’d rather rest his lungs than yell the same two names over and over again while someone with a megaphone leads them on. Doesn’t matter that sticking to the beat of _no justice, no peace, no racist police_ starts to feel more like a chore than he’d anticipated at the start of the day.

Every time he starts to let those ungrateful little thoughts slither their way into his head, he shouts twice as hard and keeps pushing himself forward. Fueled by all the people around him who must be doing the exact same thing. He’s lucky to be able to count on devoting his Sunday to resting as much as possible, because so many others are no longer able to. And that’s the only thing that matters.

Until some asshole in his big white truck with a TRUMP 2020 sticker on the back window starts trying to drive his way through the crowd a bit too aggressively. There aren’t as many people as earlier in the day, sure. Before it was an impenetrable sea, and now it’s dwindled to more of a lax gathering. But they’re still people, still marching with a purpose. And this absolute shit stain of a person is trying to run them down.

Some people scream and scatter, while others hold their ground. They all pause to watch the scene unfold, as some thin little blonde girl plants her feet in front of the old truck’s bumper, while her friends attempt to pull her out of the way.

“Fuck off, you racist creep!” She practically spits at his car as he inches forward.

That obviously gets to him, because he sticks his head out of the window to shout back at her.

“Move it, liberal! I’m trying to get through the light!” He looks exactly like one would expect someone trying to run over a bunch of peaceful protesters in the name of ending police brutality and institutionalized racism to look.

“Go around like everyone else!” She shouts back.

He sticks his head back into his car and presses the horn on the wheel to send a blaring noise through the area that lasts way too long to be comfortable. And then he presses the gas for just long enough to send his vehicle forward and tap against the girl’s pelvis.

She stumbles back, hunching over as she tries to hold her body together, and her friends start shouting at the guy behind the wheel for her.

He inches his truck forward again and they jump back. One of them, a taller guy who looks like he could do much more damage if he wanted, slams a hand on the guy’s hood.

And then everything happens so fast.

He swears Harry was just standing next to him, but as the truck continues to move forward, suddenly Harry’s appeared amidst the commotion.

“Oh, fucking hell!” Louis shouts, “Harry! Get back here!”

He knew that bringing this guy to a fucking protest would be bad news. He was astounded that nothing had managed to happen so far, but anyone willing to spit in a cop’s face is bound to land himself in a similar situation sooner rather than later.

“Someone should go get him,” Liam says, but he doesn’t make any moves to do it himself.

“Hey!” Harry shouts, mirroring the girl’s friend by slamming his palms flat against the hood.

Some others start to stand in alongside him, until there’s about ten or more people lined up right in front of the guy’s car and he’d have to be willing to commit multiple homicide if he were to keep up his attempts to drive through them.

Which, they’re not entirely sure he isn’t willing to do just that.

“Someone should really go get him,” Liam says again.

“Well go on then, Liam! He’s your friend!” Louis can’t seem to help that his voice seems to be incapable of reaching a level speaking volume all of a sudden.

“I’m not gonna get myself in trouble,” Liam mumbles, “You go, Zayn. I think you’re his favorite.”

“Louis is his favorite,” Zayn quickly opts out.

“If he wants to get himself killed, that’s none of my business!” Louis objects, but his eyes are still glued to Harry’s every motion. Why does he have to be the dumbass with enough balls or the least amount of brains to stand right up against the car’s front bumper like that?

The asshole honks again, this time in a quick sequence of one beep after another.

It does sound kind of like he’s tapping out a beat, so when Harry turns around and starts rubbing his ass back and forth against the hood like a cheap stripper, it’s no surprise that a roar of laughter begins to erupt.

“Enjoying the show?” Harry taunts the driver by looking over his shoulder during his little dance.

“He’s fucking unhinged,” Niall is one of the ones to join in with the laughter, of course, among some of the others in their group as well.

A few other skinny and very obviously gay boys come out of nowhere to follow Harry’s lead and start twerking against the car doors.

Louis physically smacks the palm of his hand to his forehead in complete and utter disbelief, annoyance, adrenaline, uncertainty, and about a thousand other emotions he doesn’t have names for at the moment.

Suddenly, the little glimmer of glee subsides just as quickly as it sparked to life, when the raging jerk behind the wheel fucking floors it out of what Louis can safely assume is a fit of pure unbridled, bigoted fury.

“Holy shit,” Liam breathes in shock, and then Louis’s brain barely has a second to comprehend the damage that was caused before he’s already tossed his sign aside and taking off towards the intersection.

People are screaming as they tend to their friends who were bold enough to be in the line of impact, some have their phones out to record evidence, and all Louis can do is scramble towards Harry who’s laid out on the concrete, rolled over onto his back and currently trying to sit up again.

“Are they alright?”

“Call 911!”

“Stay with me!”

Various panicked shouts echo all around the scene, and Louis has to shoo a few people away to even reach Harry who’s probably equally freaked as all hell right now.

“No, don’t,” Louis says as soon as he’s able to kneel over him. He touches a hand to his shoulder and gently urges him back down. “Don’t move until I can examine you.”

“Did I die? Is this Heaven?” Harry asks, disoriented.

Louis can’t help but crack a tiny smile. Until he remembers that the whole reason Harry thinks he died and went to Heaven is because this complete idiot just had to go and get himself in another unnecessarily violent situation that had nothing to do with him in the first place.

“You’re lying on the ground in the intersection where you felt it vital to perform a strip dance on the car of a man who was already angry and trying to run people over,” Louis reminds him.

“Oh,” Harry says, and then he nods ever so slightly, “Yeah, it’s coming back to me.”

“He shouldn’t have any severe injuries, I saw him go right under,” some random bystander says, “It’s lucky he was standing in the middle.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, “You hear that? Luck. That’s the entire reason you may not have to be hospitalized.”

Though, it probably means some of the others who were closer to the wheels aren’t faring as well right now. And that inspires a huge bubble of relief in Louis’s chest that he also did not see coming from any distance away.

“Cool,” Harry grins.

“Not cool,” Louis sighs, “You most likely have a concussion. Does your head hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” Harry nods.

“Give me a second,” Louis musters up all his bare minimum first-aid knowledge to check Harry’s limbs for severe damage. He pushes down on random spots on Harry’s legs, starting from his ankles, working his way up to the knees, then outer and inner thighs.

“Mm,” Harry hums, “Right there. Yeah. Feels good.”

“Oh, you’re fucking despicable,” Louis says, but again there’s only relief at the fact that if it feels good to him, he’s probably okay to walk.

Just for good measure, Louis keeps going. He presses into Harry’s hip bones, right over the laurels he has tattooed there, squishes into the abs over his tummy, presses against his ribs and biceps and forearms. Harry giggles and squirms at every touch, and Louis would have to be a blind idiot to not acknowledge that it might just be one of the most endearing things he’s ever seen.

But he won’t be acknowledging it out loud, that’s for sure.

“Alright, you can probably get up, then,” he determines. “Slowly. Take my hand if you need to.”

Harry takes his hand before even beginning his attempt to sit up. It’s quite large and feels warm and slightly calloused against his own, and Louis absolutely does not notice any of that on purpose. Nor do his eyes linger on the chipped black polish of his fingertips or the array of unique rings adorning almost every one of his fingers. He isn’t studying Harry, he’s just helping him.

Slowly, he raises his head off the ground, and Louis’s instinct kicks in to bring his free hand around and cradle the back of Harry’s neck in support. And with their combined efforts, Harry is able to sit up straight, then bend his knees to push himself up to a full stand. Still, Louis rests his free hand on the dip of his back to make sure he’s steady.

“Ta da,” Harry grins slightly down at him.

“Was it worth it?” Louis asks, more to check his brain activity than anything.

“To find out that you actually do care about me? Absolutely,” Harry’s still looking at him like he’s a real fucking angel or something, so Louis shakes his hand free and starts his trek back towards their group without waiting for him.

“I care about not seeing you turned into roadkill,” he says, “And the same can be said for literally any one of these strangers.”

“But you didn’t run to check on any of those strangers,” Harry comes up behind and falls into step next to him, “You ran to check on me.”

“You’re reading too much into this, Harry,” Louis maintains, but his heart seems to be trying its hardest to leap out of his chest. And that doesn’t make an ounce of sense, because the danger is long gone by now.

“I think I’m reading just enough into it,” Harry says.

“Just please cut it out with the reckless behavior to get my attention,” Louis gripes.

“That wasn’t even about you, but I’m glad it worked anyway,” Harry chuckles.

“Welcome back, you absolute mad lad!” Niall slaps a heavy hand on Harry’s shoulder in cheers.

“Ouch,” Harry hisses.

“Careful,” Louis warns, “I don’t think he’s back quite yet. If it is a concussion, he should be at home resting up as much as possible.”

“I feel fine,” Harry says.

“Of course you do,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Besides the achy muscles and slight disorientation.”

“Take one of the vans back to campus,” Zayn offers. “We’ll be fine to squeeze into the other one later.”

“Someone should really go with him to make sure he gets home safe,” Louis says.

Everyone looks directly at him, and no one else volunteers.

“Well, you two have fun, then!” Niall grins.

“Are you kidding? I organized this meetup! I want to finish the day,” Louis objects.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, “Go with them, I’ll be fine.”

“You most certainly will not be fine, Harry,” Ephie interjects, “Louis, you already stepped in, so go finish the job. I can take over here.”

“I know what you guys are doing,” Louis gives her a pointed look.

“Then you’ve already figured out that it has to be you,” she simply smiles back, ever so sweet and lovely as usual. And yet, Louis would very much like to have a few improper words with her in private.

“But I don’t want to finish the job!” Louis shouts at their backs as they all begin to blend back into the remainder of the march crowd, leaving him and Harry standing alone in wait for their ride to arrive.

“I’ve got a job for you to finish, if you’re up for it,” Harry says, innuendo thickening his voice.

“Shut up, you ditz,” Louis groans.

**H**

“Sorry I ruined your day,” Harry apologizes when the two of them are alone on the drive back.

“Don’t give yourself that much credit,” Louis keeps his eyes fully focused on the road, “The afternoon part went great despite your attempts.”

“Yeah, but we could’ve done more,” Harry admits.

“If not for what?” Louis prompts, still refusing to look at him.

“Uh, me standing up for that innocent girl?” Harry guesses.

“So what you’re admitting is that if you knew how to mind your business at a protest, neither of us would be going home early right now,” Louis concludes.

“If I knew how to sit back and watch injustice happen before my eyes while doing nothing about it, sure,” Harry quips.

“Every single one of us was there because we were doing something about the injustice happening on a much larger scale every day,” Louis snaps, gripping tighter against the wheel now, “And you just had to butt in with your stupid strip tease and turn it into some kind of joke!”

“I was mocking the asshole with the audacity to drive through a protest crowd and threaten our lives,” Harry defends himself.

“And your little stunt got a whole group of people run over in broad daylight,” Louis argues.

“No one was obligated to join me,” Harry mumbles under his breath.

“And you weren’t obligated to be out there in the first place!” Louis fires back.

Harry’s fully aware that it’s clichéd and overdone to think someone is hotter than hot when they’re so clearly upset, but hey. He knows what he likes. And this time he’s not even egging Louis on on purpose, but if each of Harry’s rebuttals is going to send him closer to exploding, well, there’s no shame in looking on the bright side of the situation.

“Well, like I said, I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you,” he tries again.

“I highly doubt that,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Fairly confident you’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

He’s right, but Harry’s at least sharp enough to realize it wouldn’t help to admit that. And although he does enjoy annoying the shit out of Louis, he was also quite liking being taken care of by him, too. He’d much rather get back to that.

“This time you’re wrong,” he only sort of lies. Would he defend a harmless woman trying to stand up for herself at a protest again? Of course. Would he do it in front of Louis? Not likely.

Louis visibly strains for a moment longer, before Harry can see the tension release from his knuckles as the silence settles in again.

Finally, Harry turns to look out the window and they spend the rest of the maybe ten minute long ride without a word to each other. When they finally pull into the campus lot to drop off the van and head back towards housing, it feels more like ten years has stretched between them.

“You really don’t have to walk me home,” Harry insists as Louis tries to follow after him.

“I made it this far, so I may as well,” Louis says.

“What I meant was that I’d rather be left alone if you’re going to keep up this tense energy,” he clarifies.

“Stop being a baby and let me make sure you’re okay, otherwise I’ll have left for nothing,” Louis rolls his eyes. And then he offers his hand out for Harry to take again, and holy shit, he can’t think of a single thing on Earth that would make him say no to that.

Louis’s hand is soft and it fits so snug in his own. And they’ve got to walk halfway across campus like this, then up two flights of stairs, and Louis is walking just enough ahead of him that he’s got a fantastic view of the backside goods, so Harry might honestly believe that he died and went to heaven at that point.

When they reach the door to Harry’s apartment, he digs around in his pockets for his key ring, but has a bit of trouble getting it into the lock. His roommate isn’t home to open it from the other side, as usual, so he’s on his own for this one.

Louis waits for a very patient minute or two before he says, “Let me try.”

Harry hands him the correct key and he gets it open on the first attempt, which is what prompts his next question.

“How is your head feeling?”

“Uh,” Harry hesitates. He figures that pretending it’s worse than it actually is might earn him some extended time with this caring and soft version of Louis, so he says, “I think I do need to lie down.”

“Lead the way, then,” Louis nods.

And shit, for some stupid reason, Harry did not consider that Louis putting him to bed would mean he’d have to see his room, and the idea of that feels vulnerable in ways that are suddenly uncomfortable. He’s not sure if he has anything super embarrassing out on display, but he’s certainly not the most cleanly person on Earth either. He swallows a pool of saliva as they walk through the living and kitchen area to his bedroom door.

He’s never been ashamed of his style, but suddenly it feels like every little corner of his space is under scrutiny of the utmost importance. His British flag and the cool satanic skeleton tapestry hung on the walls around his bed. All the posters and magazine clippings of various punk and classic rock bands, most of which he doesn’t even listen to, but just likes the designs. His deep purple ouija board comforter that he obtained during his high school occult obsession suddenly seems so worn it’s almost embarrassing to still be using on a daily basis. All the weird little trinkets and figurines on his bookshelf, and the unfinished coursework scattered around his writing desk. Most of all, the fucking twinkle lights hung around the edges of his room that illuminate when he flicks the switch as they step inside.

Louis takes a moment to look around and that seems to amplify his silence somehow. Harry would give anything to know exactly every thought on his mind.

“I like the lights,” he finally says.

“No way,” Harry chuckles bashfully, for maybe the first time ever around Louis. Until now he usually laughs out of pure hysterics towards the state of his own emotional being.

“I do,” Louis assures him, “I have some myself, so you know I’m not kidding.”

“You do not,” Harry says.

“I do,” Louis says again, this time with amusement in his voice. His little toothy smile might actually be made of pure sunshine.

“Well,” Harry says. _Aren’t you just the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen_ , his brain finishes. But he must not be concussed enough to go there yet.

“Well, lie down, then,” Louis nods him towards his own bed.

“You came all the way here just to watch me settle into my own bed?” Harry asks as he gracelessly flops himself stomach down, stretching out along the length of it.

“And to make sure you’ve got everything you need to stay put through the night,” Louis confirms. “You seem to be doing alright, but just in case, you should really try to sleep it off.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry salutes, and Louis actually cracks another tiny smile at that.

“Do you want me to make you some tea before I head home?” Louis offers.

“I don’t drink tea,” Harry says. “But my roommate might have some in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

“You don’t drink tea,” Louis repeats it, not like a question, just like he can’t believe it. 

Harry chuckles.

“Maybe because I’ve never had tea made by you before,” he suggests.

Louis rolls his eyes.

“Your roommate won’t mind if we steal some?”

“I think I’ve seen the guy like twice since I moved in,” Harry shrugs. “So that’s assuming he ever comes back for long enough to notice anything is missing.”

“It’s just you in this big apartment by yourself all the time?” Louis sounds concerned about that.

“Lucky me, huh?” Harry beams. He actually quite likes having the place to himself. Feels way more independent and he doesn’t have to worry about offending anyone by walking around naked.

“You wouldn’t rather have a companion, though?” Louis wonders.

“Are you volunteering to stay the night?” He wiggles his brows as he watches Louis’s face pinken ever so slightly and his own smirk blossoms to life.

“I’ll be right back,” he dismisses himself to the kitchen.

It’s only been about a month or so since Harry transferred, but it’s pretty easy to single out this day as the best since his arrival. Which is really saying something, considering he was literally run over by a moving vehicle earlier.

Louis may never acknowledge what it means, but it seems that no matter how Harry fumbles around him, he’s still leaving enough of an impact for Louis to continue putting up with it. And that’s enough to keep holding onto the hope of something more, someday. Maybe Louis is just the hardest nut he’s ever had the pleasure of cracking.

He doesn’t realize how long he just lays there staring at the wall, imagining fake scenarios of how they might kiss and the bold confessions of secret feelings between them, but Louis interrupts a while later.

“Let it sit for a minute, it’s hot,” he warns, carefully placing the steaming mug down on Harry’s bedside table.

“Thank you,” Harry turns his head against the pillow to smile at him.

“Miraculously, he had some chamomile, so you shouldn’t have trouble falling to sleep once I’m gone,” he rambles on in a way that’s as endearing as it is informative.

“I mean it,” Harry says, waiting for Louis to focus his eyes on him, “I know you didn’t actually want to take care of me, let alone interrupt your own protesting to come drop me off at home, so I just want you to know how much I appreciate that you did anyway.”

Louis visibly squirms, trying to shrug off the intensity.

“I’d like to say it’s no problem, but you kind of are a pain in my ass,” he says.

Harry snorts a laugh. He really, really likes Louis. All the resistance only reels him in that much closer.

“Let me know when you want to try a different kind of pain in your ass,” Harry jokes, and this time Louis’s cheeks completely redden as his perfect little lips hang open in shock.

“Goodbye, Harold!” He turns away to let himself out.

Harry really hopes he can hear the laughter that he bursts into before the door closes behind.

**L**

Harry isn’t in class on Tuesday, so Louis doesn’t see him again until the Wednesday meeting. Not that he’s keeping close track of where Harry is in proximity to his own life or anything. He just happened to wonder if his recovery went well after Louis left his place that weekend.

He does get that strange sense of relief again when the curly mullet stomps its way into the room that afternoon, but that’s probably just because of the physical confirmation that he is in fact, okay.

“Where were you yesterday?” Louis had thought it was just a casual inquiry between acquaintances. He would’ve asked the same thing to any of the people in this room, if they typically sat next to each other in any shared classes. But Harry takes it personally.

“Miss me?” He flashes that stupid dimpled smile and Louis goes right back to square one again. Acquaintances. Psh. That was silly.

“I was going to say I’m glad to see you’re okay, but it turns out that feeling was so very fleeting,” Louis quips.

“I’m honored that you thought of me at all,” Harry says.

There’s nothing noteworthy to announce in terms of queer news this week, so they jump right into an informal group discussion for the first half hour. He usually loves when they’re all able to share and vent together, but it’s particularly therapeutic this week because it’s been a while since they’ve all had the chance to catch up with each other’s lives this way.

Sarah usually has a lot on her mind about being closeted to her parents that are paying her way through school. It’s why she immediately went looking for others like her as soon as she arrived at school last year, because being miles away from home in Asheville, North Carolina made it feel like she could finally breathe. She’s met a girl since the start of the semester and althought they’re taking things slow, things are apparently going well and that is just heartwarming to hear.

Marshal, on the other hand, has been out to his parents since middle school and they’ve made his life hell since. He has to work three jobs just to afford all his tuition and school fees and still has a lot of admitted trauma to work through, but he makes a point to say how grateful he is every day to have found his real family beyond his blood ties.

And Harry, for the first time ever, has something he wants to share with the room.

“I have a massive crush on somebody in one of my classes,” he announces when it’s his turn to share.

“Oooooh,” the group of them chorus.

Niall immediately gives Louis the ‘I told you so’ eyes, and Louis deliberately does not acknowledge it. He wonders how many others Harry has proclaimed this ridiculous crush to in his private time. Not to mention the balls it would take to be able to stand up and gush about your unrequited feelings for somebody right in front of them.

“It’s weird because like, I’ve never really struggled in the romance department, ya know,” Harry says, “But this guy turns me into a fucking disaster. I cannot stop thinking about him. And he won’t give me the time of day, which just makes me want to work even harder to get his attention.”

 _I cannot stop thinking about him,_ echoes in Louis’s mind as he watches Harry carefully.

“He won’t give you the time of day?” Marshal asks in disbelief, “Is he blind or something?”

“Must be straight, it’s the only logical explanation,” Angel agrees.

“We’ve all been there before,” Sarah sighs.

“There is absolutely nothing logical about being a straight man when someone like Harry exists in this world,” Ella pipes up.

Harry chuckles, eyes quickly flicking towards Louis and then back to the circle.

“I just don’t think I’m his type, really,” Harry shrugs. “Which is so unfortunate because he’s exactly mine. Smart, passionate, witty, and gorgeous beyond all reason.”

“Have you tried not being such an attention whore?” Louis quips, simply making Harry laugh again. It’s quite perplexing how he finds his own ridicule to be the most hilarious thing on the planet.

“The irony is that I only act that way around him,” Harry says. “I’ll do anything to get his eyes on me, which is so out of character. Usually I prefer to blend in.”

A few low giggles float through the room at his very obvious joke.

“And you do such an excellent job at it,” Zayn teases.

“Anyway, that’s all I had to say. I just wanted to get it off my chest and let you all know that even beautiful people struggle sometimes, too,” Harry grins, earning a few more appreciative chuckles and a roll of Louis’s eyes.

He’s really not kidding about his charm. Louis might be kind of into it himself, if he didn’t know without a doubt that it fades after an incredibly brief amount of time spent in actual conversation with him.

His little debacle was the perfect note to end on before jumping into prom planning duties, though.

After all’s said and done, Niall and Harry end up on the staffing and advertising team, which is great because everybody from every corner of the planet loves them so they can already expect a full house based on that alone. Zayn is on decorations including invites and tickets which goes with his graphic design degree, Liam volunteered to DJ himself along with planning other entertainment of the night, and Ella and Marshal are on food and venue, which leaves Louis and Ephie to handle the bulk of the budgeting and fundraising. The rest of the club members are left with whatever miscellaneous forms of support the official committee may need as planning begins.

“Well, you know I already have a million ideas,” Ephie addresses the team when the remainder have been dismissed.

“Shoot,” Harry says.

“Well, there’s my annual Halloween party of course,” she says, “So I’m thinking this year I’ll charge admission.”

“We’ll need to start long before October, though,” Louis chimes in, “We should start organizing as soon as possible, really. We’re already behind schedule.”

“Bake sale,” Niall suggests, “Love a good bake sale.”

“I used to work in a bakery,” Harry volunteers this information like that makes him an expert or something.

“So you’ll take care of that one on your own, then?” Louis quips.

“As committee members, we should all be participating in whatever we do end up planning,” Ephie says, giving a pointed look towards Louis, but all he hears is that this whole thing will mean for more time with Harry than he’d prefer. “Including the car wash we’ll be holding next weekend, which I’ve just decided as of now.”

*

“You going to Harry’s little get together tonight?” Niall asks that Friday evening as he’s popping in and out of their shared bathroom, getting ready.

“Harry’s having a little get together?” Louis quirks his head, watching from where he sits sunken into the couch with a bag of chips at his side, “And he didn’t invite me?”

They sit right next to each other once a week, not to mention the QSA meetings, and it didn’t cross his mind to invite Louis to get a little get together at his place? The same Harry who practically salivates at the mouth for any reason to talk to him?

“He didn’t?” Niall’s whole face widens in shock.

“This is the first I’m hearing of it,” Louis shrugs. “Who else is going?”

“He wanted to keep the crowd small,” Niall says, “So all I know is Zayn, Liam, Ephie, Ella, you know. The main gang.”

“So, everyone except me,” Louis notices.

“Well, you haven’t exactly been a friend to the guy,” Niall chuckles. “Till just now I was sure you didn’t even like him. I only asked cause I thought he would’ve invited you anyway.”

“Well, he didn’t,” Louis pouts. “So have fun with your little gang, I guess.”

“Lou,” he can hear the eye roll in the tone of Niall’s voice, “You know he’d be overjoyed to have you.”

“Apparently not!” He huffs.

“Just get ready and let’s go. He can take it up with me if he has a problem,” Niall says.

Harry not only bakes, but he cooks, apparently. And Louis only learns this when he opens the door in a ridiculous little apron that says _Hot & Spicy… and the food is pretty good too! _

Louis snorts.

“Louis, hi!” Harry breathes, his face brightening, rosy pink lips hung open in the surprise of seeing someone he didn’t invite standing on his welcome mat.

Under the apron he’s got on his usual band tee, but this time he’s also in a pair of comfy looking grey sweats, which is something entirely new for Louis to see him in. He’s also barefoot and his little toes are painted a pretty, shimmery, royal purple color.

“Sorry to show up unannounced, but Niall swore you wouldn’t mind,” he says, glancing over just as Niall suggestively raises his brows at Harry.

“No, I don’t, not at all,” Harry flusters, holding the door open to motion them inside. He mumbles in Niall’s personal bubble as they meander inside, “A head’s up might have been nice, though.”

“Surprise!” Niall grins as he beelines for the kitchen to put up his case of Heineken like he’s already a regular guest or something, then he makes his way into the open living room where Louis can see everyone else has already gathered around the coffee table and the couch in front of the tv.

“Welcome, boys!” Liam raises his bottle in cheers as they all wave him over. He smiles back his greeting, but still addresses Harry before he’ll go settle in.

“You’d figure someone would be invited if they were actually wanted around,” he comments. It comes out sounding less confrontational and with more lightness to his tone than he originally intended. 

“Hop off it, Lou,” Ephie scolds him, “You only showed up cause you heard we’d all be here.”

“You don’t know me,” Louis teases, sticking his tongue out towards her.

She’s right, though. It’s not like he can actually blame Harry for not inviting him; despite the FOMO monster that dragged Louis here by its claws anyway. The idea that Harry could even pretend to be happy to see him at this point is almost as bizarre as the fact that it actually seems genuine.

“She does have a point,” Harry says as he moseys his way back to the open kitchen. “Of course I considered inviting you, I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“So you invited all my friends instead,” Louis follows his lead, mostly to take a peek at whatever’s on the menu. He can’t tell what’s cooking, but it smells absolutely heavenly. He didn’t realize Harry was planning a whole homemade dinner party.

“They’re my friends, too,” Harry says.

“What are you making?” Louis changes the subject because he’s already here, so it’s not like the details of how or why matter anymore.

“Uh, just some appetizers, nothing fancy,” Harry names each dish he points to, “Buffalo chicken dip, spinach artichoke dip, pigs in a blanket, air fried onion rings, guacamole, and a whole mess of oven baked tortilla chips to go with.”

“You make the chips from scratch?” Louis asks. How strange when it’s far easier to just go and buy a few bags of scoops or something.

“Mhm,” he hums as he bends to take another tray out of the oven and add it to the massive bowl of them he’s set on the counter, but not before sprinkling some salt and lime juice over them all. “If I’d have known you were coming, I would’ve done a lot more.”

“No need to work so hard, I’m already impressed,” Louis says.

“Is that so?”

“Sure, if it weren’t for Niall I probably would’ve starved to death my freshman year,” he jokes. “I mean, I can cook like, pasta, or make a sandwich or whatever. But it’s so much work.”

“You’re serious?” Harry laughs, “Pasta and sandwiches are too much work?”

“I just want food to be placed in front of me without any effort at all,” Louis sighs in his attempt to justify it.

“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” Harry smiles, then he leans his hip against the counter and looks at Louis in that way that makes him feel like the rest of the world has dimmed under the spotlight of Harry’s gaze.

“Where do you keep the drinks around here?” He asks, keeping the mood light.

“I can’t speak to how things work around your place, but here they’re usually found in the fridge,” Harry says, curling his lips up into a cheeky smirk.

“Aren’t you a comedian?” Louis rolls his eyes, pulling the door open to inspect his options.

“White Claw? Harry, please!” His mouth gapes open. He knows for a fact that no one in his group of friends drinks spiked seltzer, so there’s no chance any of them brought it along.

“Don’t judge me,” Harry chuckles, “I drink that the same way moms drink wine. Sometimes I just want to catch a little buzz after a long day.”

“At least wine can actually give you a buzz, though!” Louis is scandalized.

“But I don’t like wine,” Harry says.

“You are a fucking enigma,” Louis shakes his head. Although he specifically asked what Harry had, he ends up grabbing one of Niall’s beers instead.

“You’re far worse than I am,” Harry looks at him with a curious little crook of his brow.

*

They all sit around and shoot the shit for a while, sharing the delicious spread of starters between their laughs and banter. It might be the very first time that Louis is actually willing to admit that he can see why everybody likes Harry. He’s kind of fun. And nice. And far less annoying when he’s not solely focused on over performing in the name of catching Louis’s attention. Not to mention endlessly loving and supportive of everybody’s hopes and dreams and wishes that end up pouring out later on, once the liquor haze has really begun to set in.

Eventually they start up the Switch to play MarioKart and Liam crushes them all, then Smash Bros. where it’s Niall who sweeps the board.

Ella is the first to head out, followed shortly by Ephie, then Liam and Zayn tap out after a few more rounds, finally leaving Louis and Harry to continue tossing each other around in a pixelated brawl while Niall watches on.

He’s acutely aware of when Niall finally lapses into unconsciousness, leaned against the side of the couch from where he sits on the floor, but after a stomach stuffed full of hors d’oeuvres and far too many beers to keep track of, Louis has gotten comfortable enough to admit that he’s actually quite enjoying himself. If only in his own head.

At some point he suggests switching to another game, and as he’s searching Harry’s library he comes across something supremely interesting.

“You play Animal Crossing?” Louis curiously quirks his head to the side as he looks over at Harry, who’s slouched into the cushions next to him. Their knees are nearly knocking against each other’s, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I can’t believe you’re still judging me after all this time,” Harry says, teasing. “Yes, I play Animal Crossing. It’s a classic.”

“I have to see your island, you know,” Louis looks at him very seriously, because this is of course a Very Serious matter. Louis plays with his sisters enough to know that someone’s AC island might even be more telling than their bedroom, and they’ve already passed that milestone anyway.

“Stop it,” Harry objects, “Please don’t. I’ll show you literally anything else you want.”

Louis’s eyes reflexively flick down to the front of Harry’s jeans, and then that uncontrollable action freaks him the fuck out so much that he aborts the mission before it can even think to begin.

He presses A on the control to start up the game against Harry’s request.

“I bet you have one of those spooky themes, huh?” He asks as the game takes its time on the loading screen. “With the little blood handprints on the sand and some kind of sacrificial ritual going on in the basement.”

“You are… so far off base,” Harry laughs at some kind of inside joke with himself, and Louis only understands why when the title screen finally pops up.

“Harrison. Harold. Styles,” Louis pauses dramatically between each name, because it is a Dramatic moment, “This is a fucking fairycore island.”

“It is,” Harry’s frog grinning from ear to ear as Louis continues to click through, surpassing all the dialogue so he can run around and explore its full glory.

“There is so much pink!” Louis practically shrieks, “Who are you? Oh my God!”

“Welcome to Bright Moon,” Harry beams.

“Bright Moon? From She-Ra the fucking princess cartoon?” Louis only knows that one thanks to Sarah and Ella’s mutual obsession. He recalls a time last year that he had to threaten their lives to get them to stop discussing it to such unbearable depths in his presence.

“You seem to know a lot about the very things you’re judging me for,” Harry simply hums in amusement.

“Oh my God, there’s flowers everywhere,” Louis skims right over that accusation, “And fucking sparkly stars and shrooms. But it’s all so organized and thematic! This is actually impressive.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, “I know you’re just teasing me, but I’ll take it anyway.”

“For once, I really am impressed,” Louis insists.

Harry has clearly put in a lot of hours on this game, because he’s collected things that Louis knows for a fact are hard to get and make. He has all the little sections of his island organized, a neat little neighborhood with every yard decorated according to villager aesthetics, and even made sure those villagers are all pink too. He explains his thought process behind each little area as Louis runs around to check it all out.

His curiosity is so piqued that when he exits the game, he wants to see what else Harry plays in his free time.

“Zelda, Kirby, Pokémon, you are such a nerd. I had no idea!” Louis laughs as he cards through the options.

“Surprise,” Harry says, tilting the neck of his bottle to his lips, finishing off the last of his drink while Louis amuses himself.

He starts up the Pokémon game to see which ones Harry finds interesting enough to put on his team (that one he can admit he used to play himself back in his youth) and then they end up in a whole discussion about favorite typing and nostalgic games, and it takes Louis a while to realize that Harry’s starting to sound a bit tired.

His eyes are glazing over despite his engagement, his cheeks are slightly flushed in his maybe-a-bit-more-than-tipsy-ness, and he looks so… soft. In his worn out band tee and actual sweatpants, with his mullet hair looking a bit tousled and his lips slightly puffed up with liquor.

When the conversation reaches a lull and the only sound left between them is Niall’s little periodic snoring, Harry’s tongue traces out over his bottom lip, while his eyes are so fucking obviously settled on Louis’s mouth.

But Louis did notice that only because he’s looking at Harry’s lips, too. And he’s also noticing little things like the way his septum is tilted slightly off center and how he smells like a mix of fresh spices and clean cotton.

He might not actually like the guy beyond this weird, sort of tipsy, parallel friendship that’s suddenly bloomed between them for the evening, but he’s not blind. Harry is an attractive guy, physically at least. And Louis is a college student with enough drinks in him to blur the lines of his moral hang ups in the name of… whatever this look is leading to.

“I should go,” he says, finally acknowledging the alarms in his brain telling him maybe where his mind is headed is not the best idea after all.

When Harry finally tears his gaze away to look directly into Louis’s eyes, he’s practically screaming everything Louis is refusing to address without saying a single word, and maybe the only reason he even understands that unspoken thing is because he’s already there, too.

“Okay,” Harry nods. But he’s still burning for it. And so is Louis.

So neither one of them moves from the couch, they’re just sitting there looking into each other’s eyes, fighting against it, and then Louis simply refuses to think about the way he feels compelled to just lean in and do it.

Harry tastes like the bitterness of his beer, but in such a sweet, warm way. Like honey and sunshine and the perfect touch of calm heat to soothe his blush away.

**H**

Any part of Harry’s body that might have been drifting off to sleep is instantly shocked alert by Louis’s lips on his. The same lips that he’s been staring at and imagining all the things they could do, all the words they should say, all the ways they might taste, but this time it’s actually happening and Harry can barely fucking breath behind them.

It’s not just him who melts into it. He’s definitely not imagining how Louis kisses him back with the same smacking speed or the way their mouths press against each other’s like it’ll never be close enough no matter how they try.

His hands wander to rest at Louis’s hips on their own, but when Louis doesn’t stop him, he slides in the window to guide Louis to lay back against the arm of the couch. And then when Louis pushes his waist up to grind against the front of Harry’s pants he thinks he might explode.

They keep kissing and Harry keeps feeling. He makes his way under Louis’s shirt, up the curve of his spine, then around the front to spread across his pecs and tweak his nipples just a bit.

Louis takes a gasp against his mouth and Harry thinks he might die. He’s so fucking hard already, just from making out like this with Louis pressed underneath him. He really hopes he can hold it together. His heart feels like it’s going to launch itself from his chest and land in another dimension, it’s going so fast he can barely feel that it’s still there.

His hands drag their way down Louis’s chest and over his belly and to the hem of his jeans, and he doesn’t even think, he just starts undoing the button.

“Wait,” Louis breaks them apart to whisper in his face.

Harry just breathes, tries to catch his breath, nods and pauses where he’s at.

“Niall,” Louis says.

Harry forgot he was asleep on the floor just over a foot away from them. He forgot about anything that wasn’t Louis’s tongue, his skin, his curves, his muscle, his tummy, his thighs, his cock.

“I have a bed,” Harry says. He prays with everything in him for Louis to say yes.

Louis nods and the next thing Harry knows he’s climbing off, and it’s such a fucking tragedy to part that there’s nothing left for him to do but stumble off the couch and lead Louis into his room.

Louis ambushes him at the door, pushing him onto the bed and locking it behind. Harry’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Louis pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor and then he’s straddling Harry’s waist and pulling their mouths together for more sloppiness, more greediness, more tongue and more breaths and more pants against pants in their dirty grind.

Then Louis reaches down to move Harry’s hand back to where they left off, so Harry takes the hint and splits the button open, pulls down the zipper, quickly spits into his hand, and reaches his inside.

If he takes a second to pause and think about the fact that he has a hand around Louis’s cock, he’ll come right there on the spot. So he doesn’t think, he just strokes, clumsy and awkward until Louis breathes a tiny laugh into his mouth and pulls back again.

“Sorry, did I—

“Nope, you’re fine, I’m just gonna…” He doesn’t finish that thought out loud, instead standing up to wiggle his jeans down to his ankles and throw them aside. Harry’s eyes trace the outline in his briefs and he swallows the anticipation to see for himself, but instead he follows Louis’s example, pulling off his own shirt and then his pants and then lingering too long on what that means.

“Wanna have a seat?” Harry asks as he props himself up on his forearms, hoping Louis will just let him have what he’s been salivating for since day one.

His brows rise in intrigue and he takes the offer, settling himself on the edge of Harry’s bed. So Harry wastes no time sliding off and falling to his knees, kissing all the way from Louis’s lips down his neck, across his tattooed collarbones and over his belly, hesitating to take his time with the warm bare skin just above the band of Louis’s briefs.

“Jesus,” Louis breathes, looking down as he pushes the front of Harry’s hair out of his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” he can’t believe Louis could possibly feel even a fraction of what it’s like from where he kneels.

He wiggles the final layer down past Louis’s bulge and his cock pops up to attention and it’s nothing short of magnificent. He cannot bear to waste another fucking second, he just licks all the way up from the base and slides the tip in his mouth, going down as much as he can to get it nice and wet.

Louis draws a long breath, hissing through his teeth, as Harry adds a hand and gets to work. He’s bobbing and sucking, twisting his wrist and fucking slobbering everywhere without an ounce of shame in him. The filthy slurping sounds aren’t even half as inspiring as the heavy breaths and moans coming from above, and his mouth is just full of Louis and his hands are full of Louis and his heart is so fucking full of Louis.

“Fuck, God, yes,” Louis shouts and whines all at once, and Harry can’t help but smile on his dick.

His hands start to grab at Harry’s roots, like, really grab at them, and Harry can tell he’s trying not to thrust upwards, but that’s bullshit because it would be the highest fucking honor to be gagged and choked like this.

So Harry moans around it, nodding in encouragement, pulling all the way off to tongue at the tip for just a moment before he plunges all the way back down, taking every single inch of it to the back of this throat in response. Choking himself on it.

He does heave a little, and Louis breathes through his teeth like he’s trying not to bust, and damn if it’s not anything but motivation to keep up the good work.

Harry keeps sucking all the way down, then back up, hollowing his cheeks and contracting his mouth and Louis keeps hissing and cursing, somewhere on the edge of shock and arousal. He hums, keeping the length of it in his throat to let Louis know it’s fine. Better than fine, it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of. 

Harry might actually come without being touched. He’s never done that before, but the way Louis let himself be used like a toy might just be enough to fuel Harry for life.

“Holy—f—Harry—

The way Louis can’t even seem to form a full phrase or have a coherent thought as Harry works over him, the way his breathing and groaning turns into fucking whining, the way Harry’s eyes are actually sticky with his own tears and he starts to wonder whether the ache in his jaw or his neck is going to end up being more powerful reminder of this tomorrow leads him to finally grab his own throbbing cock.

With perfect timing, too, because Louis has about three more pumps left in him before he yanks Harry’s hair to make him stop, and Harry’s glad he seems to know he can just come pressed right against Harry’s cheek without even having to ask. Or maybe he’s just so lost in the heat of the moment that he doesn’t give a damn whether Harry would’ve said yes or not, and somehow that’s even hotter.

And that’s how Harry loses it, pumping himself through the full body shudders of his own climax to the thought of being entirely at Louis’s mercy. He comes so hard it feels like he might actually have reached another planet, until the high begins to fade and he’s left to find his head resting against Louis’s inner thigh, a handful of mess sticking on his face and between his own legs.

Louis has his back flat against the mattress, just staring up at the ceiling while his hand still rests in Harry’s hair.

And that’s just the most perfect, beautiful, nicest, wonderfulest thing Harry can think of.

“Towel?” Louis asks after a few minutes, combing his fingers through Harry’s curls now.

He chuckles breathlessly into his leg, plants a tiny kiss there before pushing himself up from the floor to dig around for something to wipe his face with.

“That was…” Louis hesitates to find a word to describe it, so Harry fills in the blanks for him.

“The most incredible oral experience of your life, I know,” he grins, crumpling up the tee shirt he found and throwing it across the room at Louis’s face for him to clean up, too.

Louis laughs much harder than how funny it actually was.

“Honestly, probably pretty close,” he admits.

“Top three, at least?” Harry jokes, but he also seriously wonders.

“Easily,” Louis nods, although he reaches for his clothes to dress himself again.

And of course Harry knew that was coming, but there’s still a little tinge of disappointment even as he plays it cool.

“Feel free to come back for more, then,” he says, as he steps into his shorts of his own to walk the two of them out. They do still have to wake Niall up before he can leave. “I have about a million other tricks you’ve yet to see.”

“I have to go,” Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s clearly fighting back a smirk.

**L**

Louis sleeps well into the next afternoon, so by the time he wakes up, Niall’s got some of his frat boy friends over for hookah and football. It’s not really Louis’s scene, so he just says hello as he passes by on his way to shower and get ready. He’d love to lie around all day, but he made plans to go with Zayn to his tattoo appointment last week, so he’s out the door by three.

He cannot stop thinking about Harry all of a sudden, and that is quite the new development for him, so when Zayn asks how the rest of the night went without them, he figures he’ll just get it over with.

“I fooled around with Harry,” he says.

“Ha! I won! Pay up!” Liam grins, resisting the urge to punch Zayn in the shoulder.

“Now hang on a second, Lou, what exactly do you mean by that?” Zayn prompts.

“Tell me you guys did not have a bet going,” Louis gawks back and forth between them.

“I said you might end up kissing, Liam said you were fucking for sure,” Zayn shrugs.

“What the fuck, you guys?”

“What? Harry was very determined,” Liam shrugs, and then Zayn actually does punch him in the shoulder, since it’s not the one currently under the needle.

“He was determined?” Louis asks, “As in, he planned it to happen?”

“No, he didn’t plan anything,” Zayn scrambles to clean up Liam’s mess, “He just thought that if he stopped chasing you so much, you might come to him.”

“And clearly he was right,” Liam adds, then to Zayn, “So pay up.”

“Is that why I wasn’t invited?” Louis wonders out loud, head fucking reeling at the revelation.

“I have no knowledge of that,” Zayn claims, “We were just speaking in general.”

“You were speaking with Harry about how to get me in the sack?” Louis is scandalized. He’s not sure if he feels fully betrayed yet, seeing as they are Harry’s friends too, but it’s definitely bordering the edge of that area.

“Harry talks about you all the time, dude,” Liam interjects. “He was just whining about you not being interested again, so Z suggested he try playing it cool instead.”

“I… don’t know how to feel about this,” Louis admits, crossing his arms, sinking back against his seat.

“Sounds like I’m missing parts of the story here,” Zayn’s artist looks up for a moment, “Someone wanna fill me in?”

So Zayn and Liam jump into explaining that apparently Harry has been obsessed with Louis since day one, while Louis could barely stand to be around him.

_They’re very different, see, Harry’s like this wild punk rocker and Louis, well, you see how he’s more casual and collected. That’s basically a perfect representation of them in life, too. Harry’s like, chaos and anarchy, and our Lou here is more focused on keeping the peace and holding it together…_

It is so interesting to see how his friends view the two of them as individuals that he listens intently as if he’s not one half of the whole story.

_We weren’t sure it’d ever happen at first, but it’s obvious that Lou’s starting to warm up to him. Harry’s just impatient, though, so he comes on too strong. And like, obviously no one’s into that, so when Harry threw the party without even mentioning it to Louis, and then Lou showed up anyway, we were all like, oh fuck, it’s working! And THEN they started actually getting along, and seeming a bit flirty, even. So, that’s when we decided to make a bet._

“Are you saying that all of you were in on this?” Louis grumbles.

“The bet was just between me and Zayn,” Liam says. “And you still haven’t confirmed who really won.”

“And I won’t be!” Louis fusses. “It’s none of your business exactly what went on between us.”

“Just my opinion, anyone who says ‘fooled around’ is talking about more than kissing,” tattoo guy shrugs.

“Well, you can mind your business, mister!” Louis says.

“Buddy, you brought your business in here and laid it all out in front of me,” he counters.

“Laid out his business for Harry last night, too,” Zayn jokes, and Liam shoots his hand up for a high five.

**H**

Harry hasn’t seen or heard from Louis in three days, but now it’s Tuesday and they have class together, so he’s got a twist in his gut as he makes his way down the halls.

Louis is already there, as usual, but this time he doesn’t look up when Harry walks in.

“Hi,” Harry sets his book down on the desk and slides into the seat next to him. Not bothering to leave a space between them this time.

“Hello,” Louis says it to the Twitter feed he’s busy scrolling through on his phone.

And that’s… different. But so is all of this, really, because before Louis had his dick down Harry’s throat he at least knew to expect not to get much out of him. Now, it seems kind of personal.

“Enjoy the rest of your weekend?” Harry prompts.

“Mhm,” Louis says. Typing something now.

Harry sighs, falling back into his seat. He’s trying not to let it bother him because he’s playing it cool now, so he just unzips his bag in search of the notes for this class and busies himself reviewing last week’s criteria because all of a sudden he can’t seem to recall a damn thing beyond the cries of Louis’s orgasm and the scrunched expression as he squirted all over Harry’s face.

“So you’re one of those types, then,” Harry says to no one in particular. He’s not looking at Louis anymore, although it’s clear that he’s being addressed.

“One of what types, Harry?” Louis asks harshly.

“The ones who can’t separate fucking from feelings,” Harry says, staring him down again, now that he actually has his attention.

“I—this is not about feelings,” Louis stutters.

“It’s about some kind of feelings,” Harry argues, “Maybe not romantic, probably more shame than anything, though I don’t know why you’d feel that way beyond some kind of intimacy issue of your own making. But you obviously feel something about what we did, don’t know how to process it, and that’s why you can barely look at me right now.”

“I’m looking at you,” Louis hisses. “And I’d like to know what makes you qualified to analyze all my life choices and motivations anyway?”

“Just an educated guess,” Harry shrugs. “Since you won’t tell me what’s on your mind, it’s only natural I’d come up with my own theories.”

“You planned to get me into bed, Harry,” Louis says. “Here I thought we were just having a nice moment, but come to find out you manipulated me into coming over and like, trying to get me to fall for you or whatever.”

“So you’re mad because it worked?” Harry chuckles. He didn’t even plan for that to happen, although he fucking hoped it would. What he was trying to do is stop making a total fool of himself by fawning all over some guy who’s made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested, and he was really looking forward to having a chill night in with friends to help him move on a little. Everything that went down that night was just one happy surprise after another.

But it’s still fun to watch Louis squirm.

“It did not work,” Louis says, “And it won’t be happening again.”

“Okay,” Harry says simply.

Louis just blinks back at him, fuming. It’s the cutest thing.

“So can we go back to being almost friends, then?” Harry prompts. “I’ll keep my hands to myself as long as you can.”

“We’re not friends,” Louis grumbles, turning back to the front as the professor walks in.

“We were almost friends that night,” he reminds him, “Remember the chip eating contest? The video games? It was all quite friendly.”

“We were never friends,” Louis says again for emphasis.

“Okay,” Harry laughs again.

What does it say about him that the harder Louis fights against it, the more it only ends up attracting him?

**L**

Harry’s charm ends up working out for the benefit of the club once again at their first fundraising event that weekend. It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, although there is a little chill in the air, he’s still more than happy to accommodate all the girls who’ve spread the word to their friends about the hot guy with all the tattoos and piercings washing cars in his short shorts. 

Louis tries very hard not to watch from where he’s volunteered to man the cash register, underneath the shaded canopy set up on the way out. But Harry does know how to work his assets in his favor, Louis will give him that.

He doesn’t do it in a way that’s misleading, either. He simply gives genuine compliments where they’re due, laughs at all the right times, and makes a point to be extra polite in a way that encourages people to want to leave big tips. All his legs and arms and back and butt action is just the cherry on top of the very delicious, presentable cake he has to offer.

“Dude,” Ella says, breaking him free of the spell Harry’s enacted by simply leaning over the hood of some shiny convertible he’s busy covering in suds. 

“Huh?” Louis looks back to the situation at hand, where some guy has driven off after settling his bill with her instead of him.

“What’s the real estate market like all the way up Harry’s ass? Seems pretty crowded already,” she says. 

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Louis denies, flustered from being caught off guard.

“As long as you realize that an acting career is not in the cards for you,” she rolls her eyes. 

“Really Ella, you’re one to talk,” he says, opening the cash box to double check that everything is in the right order, more for distraction than anything else, “I’m surprised you managed to separate your mouth from Ephie’s tit long enough to sit here with me today.” 

He likes Ella, a lot. She comes from a rough neighborhood, so she’s more than capable of holding her own in the big bad world and is never afraid to say what’s on her mind. It’s always no bullshit with her, so he can be a little more crass and candid than he would with others. 

“Fair enough,” she laughs, “Mainly because I’m too fucking pale to withstand the sun for a whole afternoon, because trust that I would much prefer to be living out my deepest lezzie fantasies right now.” 

She pulls the shades down over her eyes, crosses her arms, and leans back against the metal chair with her head turned towards the woman in question, who’s currently spraying her hose at Sarah and Angel as they laugh and make poor attempts to run away. 

“At least we both have a nice view,” Louis says, mimicking her demeanor as his eyes reluctantly drift back towards Harry’s glistening abs. 

“Company’s not so bad, either,” she says, holding her hand out for a fist bump. 

The afternoon drags on much like that, in between their banter and collecting the funds as cars come and go. They’ve brought along some refreshments for the volunteers in the cooler set between them, so it’s only a matter of time before Harry decides to take a break and stop by for a visit. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, you know,” it was only a matter of time before he just had to say something like that, too. His voice comes lowly against the shell of Louis’s ear as he leans over to grab a water bottle, and Louis very deliberately does not turn to face him.

“My eyes are on everyone, stupid. It’s called supervising the event,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “I just hope your spank bank is nice and full after today. I only aim to please.” 

“Aren’t you cold?” Louis avoids his taunting.

“Aren’t you grateful?” Harry counters, “For all this money and _attention_ my ass is bringing in?”

“Insufferable,” Louis groans. 

He can hear the grin in Harry’s voice when he asks, “You going to Marshal’s party tonight?” 

“I was invited,” Louis says. 

“Does that matter anyway?” Harry teases, reminding him of the night he very pointedly was not invited and still showed up regardless. Among the many other things that happened that night which were not supposed to.

“He’ll be there,” Ella interjects. “So will I, not that you seem to be interested in my presence at all.” 

“Oh, Ellie,” Harry hums, “You know I adore you, it’s just that you’re not half as cute as Louis is.” 

“As if!” Ella scoffs, “Just cause I’m not your type doesn’t mean shit.” 

“Are you done insulting my dear friend now?” Louis prompts. 

“I should make my way back to servicing the masses,” Harry acquiesces. “I’ll see both of your lovely faces later on, though!” 

*

Marshal lives just off campus in a big house with four other roommates, so when he announced they were throwing a party that weekend Louis, Zayn, Liam, and Niall immediately met each other’s eyes in confirmation that they’d all be there.

When he noticed each of them separately acknowledge Harry in the same way, that was a bit of a nuisance. He’s not threatened by their close friendship with him, considering three of them have been a pretty solid group for years, with Liam being the one that they most recently adopted into it. But Louis actually likes Liam, so that addition never bothered him.

Harry, he hoped they’d all grow tired of, or at least respect that the conflict between him and Louis wasn’t going away and have the good sense not to keep including him in things. Apparently they all genuinely enjoy his company though, so Louis is just left to suck it up. Which kind of stings, because if any one of them decided they’d rather not associate with someone for any reason, Louis values their friendship enough to not risk it.

But whatever. It’s petty to try and force them not to hang out with Harry. They can do whatever they want.

“You’re fuming again,” Zayn’s voice snaps him back to the party at hand.

They’re all out on the balcony amongst a circle of others passing a blunt around. Zayn’s got a cig in his hand, Louis has a beer in his, Liam’s chatting up some dude in the corner, and so is Harry. He went to get himself another drink and got stopped on his way back, which Louis can see through the sliding glass door.

“I am not,” Louis says, turning his attention to the blunt that’s been handed to him. Taking a long drag and holding it as he finds his eyes drawn right back to where they were before.

It seemed like Harry had tried to keep the interaction brief at first, but whatever the guy said to him was enough to make him think twice, because now they’re locked in a full on conversation complete with laughter and smiles that’s inspired an awful churning in his stomach.

“Isn’t that Lucas?” Zayn asks.

Is that the first boy who ever held Louis’s heart in his hands, looked at it and went _fuck this noise_ , then threw it to the ground and squished it underneath the toe of his blue suede oxfords? Yes, yes it is. He’s even still wearing those stupid fucking shoes and his boring grey vest, but at least he seems to have left the fedora at home.

“Looks like,” Louis simply says, taking another drag and passing it to his friend.

“Talking to Harry,” Zayn observes, pressing it to his lips next.

“Mhm,” Louis acknowledges.

It’s not like Lucas is even Harry’s type anyway, right? Or Harry, Lucas’s. So if it’s not a little meet cute they’re having, then what else could they be talking about? Or if it is about sex, then why on Earth would Harry even entertain that from a guy like him?

“But you’re not fuming,” Zayn teases, there’s a chuckle in his voice.

“Why would I be? They’re both allowed to have friends,” Louis says it just as Lucas places a hand on Harry’s forearm, laughing and batting his lashes.

“Doesn’t seem friendly to me,” Zayn says, “When was the last time you talked to him? Lucas, I mean.”

“He comments on my photos sometimes,” Louis shrugs, “Proper conversation? I couldn’t tell you.”

“Isn’t it the weirdest when it happens like that? Like, you’re kind of cool with each other but never really know what to say if you see the person again,” Zayn’s trying to keep him distracted, bless him. “I ran into Perrie at the library over summer and we just kind of smiled and waved at each other. After spending all of high school attached at the lips, that’s it? We’re both happy now, so I’m not bitter. It’s just fucking weird.”

“I always thought you two would end up being friends someday,” Louis says, “We all liked Pez.”

“Yeah, I dunno. Think we just grew apart and all. Everyone warns you that’ll happen when you graduate, but you still can’t really prepare for it,” Zayn says.

“We managed to make it through though, on the bright side,” Louis smiles.

Corny as it is, they were those friends who made a pact to go off to college together. When it came time to apply, Zayn ended up getting accepted to basically every school in the country, save for the Ivy Leagues. URI was one of the better ones that would have Louis, though, and despite him assuring Zayn a thousand times over that he didn’t actually have to stick to their stupid deal, he insisted that he wouldn’t even know how to function without Louis by his side for such a big adventure. And it turns out that Louis gets homesick a lot more than he anticipated, so it’s nice to always have such a big piece of it with him.

“Yipee,” Zayn is so dry about it that Louis elbows him in the side and they both have to laugh.

Louis is still wondering what the fuck is taking Harry so long, but he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that out loud, so instead he says, “I’m gonna go grab another.”

“Yours isn’t even empty!” Zayn calls after him.

It’s just Harry by the time he makes it into the kitchen, though, and Louis is not about to go chasing after his ex for any reason.

“Miss me?” Harry taunts, leaning his arm against the counter.

“Has the answer to that question ever been a yes?” Louis quips.

“I’m hoping one day I’ll get lucky,” he laughs.

“What were you talking to that guy about?” Louis tries to ask it casually, but that proves difficult considering how accusatory the question is by nature.

“Why, you jealous?” Harry waggles his brows.

Louis rolls his eyes. He’s laying it on pretty thick tonight, so he must have had at least one too many.

“No, I just…” he tries to shrug it off, but the idea of Harry being interested in the same guy he used to think about that way is unsettling somehow. “I’m just wondering.”

Harry takes a moment to pause, staring Louis down before he finally answers.

“Pretty sure he was trying to flirt, but I told him it’s useless,” Harry says, “Someone else already has my attention.”

Louis gulps. Brings the bottle to his lips for a swig.

“You shouldn’t put it like that. Makes it sound like you’re involved, you know,” he advises.

“For all intents and purposes, I am,” Harry shrugs. “I’d be nothing more than a lifeless sex doll to anyone else at this point.”

Louis swallows, taking another full on chug this time, because phew. That brings up some very specific memories which are nowhere near lifeless.

“Probably all he was looking for anyway,” he says.

“You can’t know that,” Harry says. And then when Louis starts picking at the label of his beer in squirmy silence, he asks, “Can you?”

Still, Louis lifts his bottle for another sip before answering.

“That was my ex,” he says, through clenched teeth.

“Louis Tomlinson, are you telling me that you actually do have a romantic bone in your body?” Harry gasps, “That you actually are able to display your emotions for someone, enough to end up in a fully official relationship with them?”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis pushes against his arm.

“You simply must tell me more,” Harry urges, “I want to know everything.”

“Keep dreaming,” Louis mumbles.

“Or I could just go find him again and ask what he has to say about you,” Harry makes a motion like he’s going to wander off, until Louis grabs his arm to keep him in place.

“We were only together for like, a year,” he blurts, pulling Harry back into their little bubble of conversation. “Not even. Ten months, I think. At the start of freshman year.”

“Okay, so you’ve had plenty of time to recover from that, then,” Harry nods, “Was there anyone else after him?”

“No,” he admits. He kind of likes being single, although like any normal human being, he does get lonely sometimes. It’s nice to know you’re cared about, and that someone is thinking of you when you’re not around.

But he likes being single.

“And yet, you’re still so closed off for some reason,” Harry hums in thought.

“I am not closed off, Harry,” Louis scoffs, “I just don’t like you.”

“So out of touch with your own feelings,” Harry sucks his teeth, wondering out loud, “Could it have something to do with that guy, or have you always been an emotional mute?”

“I used to be you,” Louis says, although he really shouldn’t have to justify himself at all, “I like, threw myself at him from day one. I always wanted more than he could give. I drove myself crazy wanting him.”

“That guy?” Harry curls his lip in disgust, “With the corny shoes and the wannabe hipster getup and the laugh that sounds like a chainsaw? _You_ threw yourself at him?”

Louis snorts to hold in a laugh. Sometimes he does look back on that relationship and wonder what the hell was going through his mind.

“What the fuck does he have that I don’t?” Harry huffs, tilting his own drink up for a sip.

“It’s not about any of that,” Louis says. He might not remember exactly what made him feel that way, but he knows the feeling was there. Tremendously far off from how he feels about Harry.

“Then what?” Harry presses, “I demand to know how he managed to bag someone so far out of his league while I’m still struggling to get your attention.”

“You are not like anything I’m used to,” he admits, feeling uncomfortably close to the area of a confession of some sorts, “Being wanted instead of doing all the wanting? That’s a frightening change of pace for me.”

“Shouldn’t that be exactly what you’re looking for, though?” Harry fusses, “If you’re used to being pushed away and you know how it feels, then why wouldn’t you jump at the chance to be with somebody who would do anything for you?”

“Because, Harry, I know you think I’m just messing with you, but I’m being serious,” Louis hesitates, because it’s not an easy thing to say to anyone really, regardless of how much you might dislike them. “I really don’t… feel that way about you.”

Harry holds their gaze for just a moment longer, intensifying, scrunching his brows together like he’s searching for something he’s never going to find. Then he turns forward, nodding as he visibly swallows the lump of truth that’s formed in his throat.

He presses his bottle to his lips, chugs down the last of it in three big gulps, then tosses it into the trash nearby and, so quickly that Louis barely has time to process it happening, Harry’s grabbing his face with both hands to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s rough and smacking just like the last time, only this time it feels different because Harry’s the one who’s pressing them closer together, who’s licking into his mouth and sucking on his lips and breathing like there’s not enough air on earth to satisfy him.

And Louis physically can’t bring himself to stop it. He doesn’t want it to stop, if he’s being honest. Even in the middle of this party where there’s plenty of people around to see them and he knows he’s gonna catch shit about it from all their friends later, he’s still ready to shred Harry’s clothes in pieces just to get to him.

Harry’s hands find the back of his head as one goes up to tangle in his hair while Harry’s lips make a path across his jaw and down to his throat.

“Upstairs,” Louis manages to breath the word up to the ceiling and Harry grips him by the neck, good Lord, to lead him out of the room, around the corner, all the way up the steps to the first door they can find.

It’s a bathroom, but that doesn’t stop Harry from slamming the door shut and pushing him against the edge of the sink to keep up with his kissing and tonguing, all over Louis’s neck, mouth and then back around.

His hands work just as quickly as Louis remembers, snaking their way underneath his shirt to remove it, and then his lips are free to roam over shoulders, down to nipples, around his belly button, across the skin just above the hem of his jeans.

“It’s a gay bathroom,” Harry says, into the dip of his hips.

“What?” Louis half chuckles as Harry pulls away for a moment to open some drawers and shift around in search of something.

“Gay bathroom,” Harry says again, as he produces a condom and a tube of lube from one of them. Things that someone is almost guaranteed to find in the bathroom of someone who’s into anal activity.

“A gay bathroom,” Louis fully laughs now, and Harry grins as he sets it on the counter and comes close again.

He places his arm stiff against the length of Louis spine, palm pressed flat between Louis’s shoulder blades to prop him up as he works the button on his jeans, then yanks them down with both hands this time, as Louis almost slides off the counter. Briefs are next to go, and Louis reflexively grips the edge of the granite to keep steady.

“Stop me whenever you want,” Harry says, unscrewing the cap to the lube and squirting a generous dollop onto two of his fingers.

Louis gulps, mind racing with the evidence of how big Harry’s fingers suddenly seem and the imagined sensation of how they’ll feel inside of him. Of course he doesn’t want it to stop. He reaches behind himself to spread his cheeks open for easier access instead.

“Jesus, fuck,” Harry surges forward to connect their lips again as his hand circles around the back and Louis feels the cold touch of Harry’s lubed fingertips against his hole.

It’s Louis’s turn to grab his face on either side and urge him closer, beg for more without uttering a single word. He licks into it, holding his open mouth just in front of Harry’s as it falls open when he starts to press inside. He’s just breathing against Harry’s lips and teeth, watching the smile grow in satisfaction right before his eyes.

The burn is so, so good. Louis does it for himself sometimes, but it’s not the same as this, nowhere even near it. He can’t control the way Harry stretches him, only endure it. Move with it, around it, against it. The pacing is slow and infuriating; Harry’s being careful. He’s not sure if he means to tease him this way or if it comes natural, but Louis will take whatever he gives.

One becomes two, and Harry distracts Louis with his tongue while he drips a little bit more fluid where his fingers do their job, stretching him wide enough to pop in one more.

Louis hisses this time, not prepared for the entirety of it to just slip freely inside. It turns into a long, drawn out moan, when Harry pumps without missing a beat, fully taking him apart with such practiced intent that Louis feels like pure fucking jelly.

“You are the most gorgeous thing,” Harry pants, his voice coming out deeper and slower than Louis has ever heard, still working his fingers in and out, watching Louis as he keens, “I have ever. Fucking. Seen.”

He makes a sound he’s never heard come from his own throat before; something like a whine and a plea and a scream all at once. He doesn’t know what it means, all he knows is that he never wants Harry to stop talking like that or touching him like this or worshiping him like he does.

But Harry does stop. Somewhere in all the clouds, Harry pulls his fingers out and Louis could cry with how empty he feels. He’ll have a fucking meltdown if he doesn’t get it back.

And then he opens his eyes and Harry’s sliding on the condom and stroking some more slickness around him, so Louis hops off the counter and turns around to grip the edges instead. Legs spread open, ass in the air, ready and waiting.

“Christ, Louis, holy shit,” Harry breathes, taking his sweet sweet time to drive Louis completely wild. He feels those big hands grip his cheeks, pressing into the skin, spreading him wide. Then they leave and it’s a smack, quick and brief, echoing through the steamy, sweaty air.

And then comes the tip, saying hello to his hole with just a touch, a gentle slide to trace around the edge. Louis might actually scream.

“Harry,” he does it again, that ugly, desperate whine. Who the fuck is this person he becomes when Harry’s working him over?

Harry hums a tiny sound of amusement, and then he pushes slowly inside.

Louis braces himself against the counter as Harry feeds him some, then takes it away, then more, then less, and more again. Until it’s hips to bum and Louis is biting his bottom lip so hard it might bruise, more out of the sheer miracle it feels to have Harry’s entire length in him than the actual stretch of it all.

He groans as Harry pulls out to the tip, then pumps all the way in again. He does it two or three more times, slow like that, fuck if Louis can even count anymore, if his brain is even functioning beyond a shouting stream of yeses in his mind while Harry finds a steady pace.

He’s so big and strong and deep, Louis feels like he might break in half. He knows that’s dramatic because he saw it, Harry’s not packing anymore than the average man, maybe a bit on the bigger side, but logically of course it’s not going to destroy him or anything. Except it still feels like it will. It still feels like no matter how full he is, he just wants more; more pounding, more panting, more everything.

It’s Harry who starts cursing first, gripping tight against Louis’s hips as he slams in faster, the smacking sounds of balls against skin filling the space along with a chorus of his bass and Louis’s soprano, his stupid fucking baby whines that he can’t seem to keep from falling out anymore.

“Fuck, Harry, oh—my—God—yes, yes, don’t, stop, please,” he drops his head down so he’s staring at the drain in the sink, and then Harry’s gripping his hair and pulling him back up again.

“Look,” he says, voice sounding scratchy and used.

Louis’s own cheeks are flushed red, his lips hanging open, eyes blown wide, hair stuck to his forehead, mouth hung open in desperate bliss as Harry continues to plow into him. Looking like an Olympic champ with the way his muscles flex, beaded with sweat, the hungry depth in the green of his eyes as he stares at Louis in the mirror and continues to thrust forward.

It’s fucking hot, the way Harry holds his waist and his head to attention, forcing him to watch himself get ruined. Harry’s fucking hot, the way he ruins him.

Harry’s hand moves from Louis’s hip to stroke his cock, and that’s absolutely all he can stand anymore. Harry barely gets a full motion in before Louis is whining again, groaning as he shoots white from the tip all over the cabinets and linoleum floor.

Harry lets him go to grab his hips again, speed up somehow, chasing his own release until Louis is so sore it feels like his whole body is rug burnt and that’s when Harry finally comes into the condom, and every part of Louis’s whole heart and soul wishes he could’ve felt that inside him too.

Harry folds over him, chest to back, arms wrapped around Louis’s stomach to hold the position while he gathers himself again. He doesn’t pull out just yet, and Louis is so grateful for that.

“Anyone in—oh shit! Sorry!” A voice calls from the other side of the door, but before either of them can react to it, it’s opened and then quickly closed again.

The two of them burst out laughing.

“Just a minute,” Harry manages to call back.

“I’ll find somewhere else, thanks!”

The giddy laughter keeps on as they finally separate to put their clothes back on and clean up the mess.

“For the record, I’m fine if this is all you want,” Harry says as he begins to rearrange the bottles of lotion and colognes along the counter, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Louis says, but it tastes like a lie.

“Well then, don’t treat me like some dirty one night stand the next time we see each other,” Harry says, looking over with eyes full of accusation.

“Maybe I wanted you to be a one night stand,” Louis says.

“And now?” Harry asks, turning on the faucet to dip the washcloth and wipe Louis’s come from the wooden doors.

Louis feels his own tongue dart out over his lips, giving him away.

“We’ll see,” he simply says.

“Challenge accepted,” Harry grins, shaking out his hands and drying them on the towel next to the toilet.

**H**

Harry was so ready to be Louis’s friend. Even if it was only friends—maybe with some benefits, which he was definitely still in pursuit of.

It’s not that he thought Louis was lying when he said he wasn’t interested that way; he honestly believes he isn’t, so of course he’ll keep saying it until it feels true. But he also swore he didn’t want anything to do with Harry at first, and now he’s bending over in bathrooms to take Harry’s dick, so he clearly doesn’t have the best track record of knowing what he wants.

Either way, despite what Louis may or may not be interested in, Harry has a nasty feeling it’s all about to come crashing down when he shows up to their next Tuesday class with a black eye.

Sure, he could just lie about it, but then he would just be faking himself to get Louis’s attention, which is exactly what he’s been trying to avoid from day one. So he figures maybe just not talking about it at all would be best, considering Ella wanted to keep the whole thing a secret anyway.

So, in the name of not having to talk about it, Harry makes sure he’s the first one to the lecture hall and he sits in the back row, all the way off in the farthest corner from the door. And then he opens his International Relations text and puts his head in it like he’s really trying to focus. He doesn’t look up when anybody walks into the room, and some part of him is praying that Louis will be out sick or something so he won’t have to see him at all until it heals.

“I thought you said the back of the room isn’t your style,” Louis’s voice jolts him to alert. Fuck.

Harry looks up, just blinking dumbly at him, God, he’s so beautiful it doesn’t even make sense. He watches as Louis’s face scrunches towards the center, his eyes fall right to Louis’s lips when he leans into Harry’s personal bubble to inspect the still slightly swollen bruise closer.

“What did you do to get that?” Is all he asks.

“What makes you think it was something I did?” Harry bristles.

“Uh, I’ve met you,” Louis says like he’s pointing out the obvious.

And to be fair, he’s right. Sort of.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry mumbles anyway.

“Should I be concerned?” Louis tilts his head.

“Bit strange to be concerned about somebody you don’t even like,” Harry points out.

“I mean, you show up one day with a black eye that you’re not willing to talk about. I’d have to be some kind of heartless monster not to find that concerning,” he says.

“I didn’t say I won’t talk about it at all, just not with you,” Harry says.

“If you tell any of my friends, they’re going to tell me anyway,” Louis says.

“Not if I ask them not to,” Harry counters.

“Harry, I’m gonna find out somehow,” Louis sighs. “Why are you afraid of telling me anyway? Is it another protest injury?”

Harry presses his lips together in a tight line, gauging Louis’s reaction. Again, his brows wrinkle up in distress. He frowns.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Harry tries to defend himself.

“Never is, is it?” Louis finally reverts back to a stand, clutching a book at his side, hiking his bag up further on his back.

“Sometimes I do get myself into certain situations that I don’t intend to escalate as far as they do,” Harry admits, “But this time I was innocent.”

“Right, well let’s hear it, then,” Louis prompts. Harry’s honestly surprised he hasn’t stormed off to his own desk at this point, so he’ll consider it a win so far.

“I went with a friend to um… Planned Parenthood,” Harry hovers over the words, knowing Louis will get it without exclusivity. “And there were these people outside with horrible signs, Lou. She started crying and having a full on panic attack on the way in, doubting herself and stuff. And then one guy told her she _should_ cry, she deserved to feel bad for being a murderer. Someone else said she should kill herself instead. She was so upset. You would’ve understood if you were there.”

“I understand right now,” Louis calmly acknowledges.

“So they were getting pretty close, like shouting this stuff in our faces. One woman said I should be ashamed for making her do this, like I was an abusive partner or something,” Harry shudders, “But anyway, I pushed her off. Like, not to the ground or anything, just to give us some space. She stumbled back a little and started screaming about how I assaulted her. Which was reason enough for some guy to push me back, harder. So I pushed him too, then he grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go.”

“And you probably swung at him first, so you got punched back,” Louis assumes. And he’s right, but still. He doesn’t have to be so impassive about it.

“But I didn’t start any of it,” Harry clarifies. “I was just trying to protect my friend.”

Louis nods.

“So, why the big production to hide it from me?” He asks.

“Are you kidding?” Harry’s eyes widen. “You get upset when I so much as look at a protest the wrong way.”

“It’s not like it should matter whether I’m upset with you or not,” Louis says.

“Of course it matters, you idiot,” he says.

“Then stop doing things to upset me,” Louis suggests.

“As if, Louis,” Harry scoffs. “You toss me a few crumbs and expect me to just twist myself into someone you don’t have to be ashamed of fucking, for what?”

“ _Harry_ ,” he hisses, looking around at their outwardly disinterested classmates.

“What? I own my life choices,” Harry shrugs, “It’s not my fault you can’t say the same.”

“Fuck off,” Louis mutters, finally dismissing himself to go sit at his usual desk.

**L**

“I really don’t get you sometimes,” Liam says, “Seems like Harry should be your wet dream, honestly.”

They’re sitting on the couch after classes have finished for the day, coursework scattered across the table. He noticed something was off about Louis that evening, so he asked a simple question about it and then Louis couldn’t stop himself from going off on a rant about how Harry is the worst, most reckless, and simply stupidest person he’s ever met.

“My _what_ ?” Louis nearly screeches, scandalized by his friend’s choice of words.

“Oh, come on,” Liam laughs, “He’s obviously just as passionate about social justice as you are. Plus, he’s easy on the eyes if you can get past that whole… look of his. He’s also smart, funny, he cooks, gets along with your friends, and most importantly he cares about you. You should be foaming at the mouth to get to him.”

“Liam, gross, ew, stop it, no,” Louis objects.

“AND you’ve already hooked up with him at least twice that you’re willing to admit, so you know it’s good enough to come back for,” he keeps going anyway.

“Enough!” Louis covers his ears now, in a show of how completely put off he is, “Why don’t you just date him, then? Since you’re such a big fan.”

Liam still finds it funny somehow, laughing again as he continues to argue his ridiculous case.

“I’m just saying, the man took a hit in the face to protect his emotionally distraught friend,” he says. “I don’t see why you’re upset about that.”

“He practically looks for trouble, Liam,” Louis spells it out for him. “It’s so… so, high school. And even back then it was uncool, but at least it could be excused by raging teenage hormones or whatever. We’re grown now, so not only is it tacky, it’s dangerous! He could get himself seriously hurt or arrested.”

“Never for a stupid reason, though,” Liam shrugs.

“Beg to differ!” Louis argues. “Egging people on and toeing the line of physical assault makes him no better than the conservative assholes who make all of us genuine activists look like a violent, unorganized mess!”

A key jingles in the door, and then Niall pushes it open with none other than the black eye bastard in tow, arms full of grocery bags to boot.

“Liam! What a pleasant surprise!” Niall greets him with a grin, “Haven’t seen ya in like, four hours.”

“It’s been ages! Come, sit, fill me in on what I’ve missed,” Liam reaches over to pat the loveseat for him to take. “Harry, always lovely to see you too.”

“Hey Liam,” Harry gives him a quick nod of acknowledgment, then purses his lips as if he didn’t expect to see Louis in his own apartment. 

He notices that the bruising around Harry’s eye is suddenly gone, though.

“What happened to your battle scar?” He nods.

“Ephie showed me how to cover it,” he says.

“Hm,” Louis simply hums before changing the subject. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“We had a bet, so now he’s come to cook me dinner,” Niall grins.

“A bet?” Louis gives Liam a pointed look, in reference to the inappropriate deal he’d previously made with Zayn.

“We bet that he couldn’t bench more than me,” Harry says.

“And you lost?” Louis gawks, eyes darting back and forth in his visual comparison of the size of Harry’s arms to Niall’s.

“No,” Harry fully grins now, suggestively wagging his brows.

“He did win, but he insisted on trying out some new recipe anyway,” Niall admits.

“Will you two be staying?” Harry asks, looking more at Louis than Liam.

Liam shrugs, “I’ll never turn down a free meal.”

“I live here,” Louis reminds him, “But if you’re going to be a while, I’m moving to my room.”

“So, dinner for three, then,” Harry says it without an ounce of trouble in his tone, like Louis’s choosing not to participate has no effect on him at all.

And that’s just fine, because at least now that Harry is done bugging him, he can actually get some work done.

After a few minutes, they all become a little bit loud and chatty and giggly through the walls, so Louis sticks his earbuds in to drown them out. He’s about an hour into the instrumental Superhero playlist he usually studies along to when his bedroom door cracks open slightly, so he presses pause.

“Sorry to barge in,” Harry says, poking only his head in. “They insisted on bringing you a bowl, though.”

“Did they insist, or did you?” Louis guesses.

“Their idea, I swear,” Harry says, “But I did volunteer to deliver.”

He is pretty hungry, now that the offer is being presented to him. He hasn’t the faintest idea what recipe Harry was dying to try, but whatever it is smells delicious. And Louis remembers the appetizer spread from his little gathering fondly, so he’ll allow it.

“Come in,” he permits, pushing his chair away from his desk to take a little breather.

Harry smiles as he pushes the door open wider to step inside, revealing a steaming bowl of stew topped with a bread roll from where it was hidden behind his back. Louis cranes his neck to inspect it before it’s even lowered in front of him.

“It’s hot, so you might want to let it cool before digging in,” Harry warns.

“Thank you,” Louis says as he takes the bowl to place on his desk.

“Not a problem. Enjoy,” Harry simply nods and turns to leave again.

“Wait,” Louis calls him to stay, though it’s probably just because he was about to break anyway and could use some company to take his mind off schoolwork for a while. That’s all it is.

Harry twists his head around to look back at him, so Louis just says something. Anything.

“So, uh. I guess Liam said something earlier that kinda got to me,” he blurts.

“Was it the thing about me protecting my friend or theoretically being your wet dream?” Harry knocks the fucking breath out of him with that one.

“I—what? You heard all that?” Louis sputters, trying to remember exactly what was said.

He chuckles, fully turning to face Louis again.

“We might have done a little eavesdropping,” he shrugs. “I heard my name and got curious.”

“That’s fucking crude of you,” Louis huffs, crossing his arms.

“You said some crude things yourself, so I think we’re even,” Harry says, “But I am genuinely curious which part it was that managed to bypass your defenses.”

“Well, I’m not telling you now,” he pouts.

“Come on,” Harry whines, “I’m sorry for listening in. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“You’re just saying that to get what you want!”

“I’m not,” Harry’s much calmer than him as he goes to sit on the edge of Louis’s mattress like he’s been there all his life. “Niall and I both decided it was wrong, albeit a little late, but that’s why we walked in when we did.”

“You are so…” Louis struggles to find words. Harry’s just sitting there with this soft look on his face that kind of disarms him against his will.

“Beautiful, intelligent, irresistible…” Harry waves his hand ambiguously in the air, bringing Louis back to the moment with a roll of his eyes.

“Annoying,” Louis rolls his eyes, “But you might have some points about some things. Maybe.”

“ _What_?” Harry’s eyes widen dramatically. “But if you’re saying I could be right about something we’ve previously disagreed on, then that would mean you’re also saying you could be wrong about those very things, which is just… no. Impossible.”

“Shut up,” Louis groans, but there’s a tinge of feather lightness laced within it. Harry’s not exactly funny, but he is quite witty. Very quick to catch whatever Louis throws at him. It’s refreshing.

“Never,” Harry says, grinning all the way. “Would you like to specify what it is that you’ve changed your mind about?”

Louis shrugs.

“I suppose, through a certain lens, one could see how it could make sense to prevent a person in a fragile state from having to bear the burden of adding unprovoked abuse on top of it,” he says, “Even if that prevention involves one’s own physical involvement.”

“Sounds like you might have tried that lens on yourself,” Harry fades into a more gentle smile now. “And I appreciate that.”

“Don’t be fooled into thinking I suddenly approve of your ways under other circumstances,” he adds, “Just in this situation, I get it.”

“I know I have a habit of doing too much sometimes,” Harry shrugs, “Especially if you’re the type to swear by the value of respectability politics.”

“Which I am,” Louis reminds him to tread carefully.

“I know. It’s infuriating,” Harry chuckles, “Might be your only flaw. That I’ve noticed, anyway.”

“Alright, that’s enough for one day. You can excuse yourself now,” Louis nods to the open door, but Harry doesn’t budge.

“It’s so nice in here, though,” he abruptly changes the subject, “You weren’t kidding about the string lights.”

“I told you I wasn’t,” Louis says.

“But I didn’t expect… I don’t know that I expected anything, per se. But I wondered,” Harry admits.

His room isn’t anything special, really. It’s mostly dark wooden furniture, with color splashed on his towering bookshelf in the reading he’s collected about life and love and revolution, some used candles and crystals that his sisters gave him for protection or whatever, and of course all the old action figures from his childhood that he could never bear to part with. Hung on his walls, there’s pictures of family and friends back at home on one side and a bunch of radicalizing posters tacked to the other. He does have a nice keyboard set up on a stand in the far corner from his desk, which rarely gets played due to his full schedule coupled with the general apartment life, and one extremely low maintenance plant with vines that fall to the floor sits on his windowsill, next to an impressive collection of scented candles.

“You wonder about me,” Louis comments, not a question at all, more of a rumination.

“Obviously,” Harry says, absentmindedly as he takes his opportunity to look around just as Louis did with his room. It’s such a squirmy feeling to be under someone’s microscope like that, so Louis reaches for the bowl he set down to stuff his mouth full of the first bite.

“Is this your mother?” Harry asks, reaching for the frame on his bedside table.

“That’s her,” Louis confirms around a mouthful of steaming stew and bread.

“You look so much alike, my God,” Harry holds the photo up next to Louis’s face, beaming at the comparison.

“We get that all the time,” he beams back, proud of their genetic resemblance.

“My mom and I, too,” Harry relates, “And my sister. We all look especially related, I guess.”

“Outward similarities existing within a family unit? No way,” Louis quips.

“Sometimes you can’t always tell,” Harry counters.

They get to talking about siblings and cousins and family gatherings, which leads to discussions about hometown friends and motivations to go to school away from them, future aspirations in far more detail than their very first briefing, and then as Harry takes it upon himself to closer examine the vinyl collection that’s organized in a crate underneath the bedside table, he finds something important to say.

Louis has long since abandoned his food and homework in favor of scooting his chair closer to the bed so they won’t have to strain to continue their conversation.

“Can I confess something to you?” Harry asks.

“Sure,” he answers so automatically it even takes him by surprise. Harry must have him in some kind of trance, the bastard.

“I love pop music,” he says, sliding an old ABBA record out to hold up for him.

“Do you?” Louis raises a brow, “To be fair, I think not liking ABBA would be far more of a cardinal sin.”

“I’ll give you that,” Harry chuckles. “Mariah, though. Whitney, Madonna, Michael, Prince, Britney, Gaga, Miley, Kesha, Ariana… all the icons and then some.”

“You’re a total poser,” Louis realizes with laughter in his voice.

“It’s true,” Harry grins, “I don’t actually listen to a single punk band anymore,” he admits, “Maybe some pop-punk? But even that’s not really my taste. I mostly like pop and classic rock.”

“You know, I’m hardly even surprised at this point,” Louis says, “It makes perfect sense that there would be a hidden pop princess underneath all this.”

He waves his hand over Harry’s general aura.

“How do you figure?” Harry reaches to adjust his septum ring to the center, a thing Louis is ashamed to admit even to himself that he’s noticed is an absent minded tick he does throughout the day.

“You’re just nothing like you present yourself,” Louis says. “Beyond the whole starting fights at protests thing.”

“I don’t always start them,” Harry reminds him.

“Yet somehow, you’re always involved in them,” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’m absolutely floored to find out that you’re a secret hippie,” Harry chuckles.

“I was, back in my high school days,” Louis admits.

“So you’ve just hung onto all the candles and incense and revolutionary posters out of pure nostalgia?” Harry teases.

“It’s all the stuff I liked about it, minus the dingy clothes and dreadlocks,” Louis admits.

“Louis,” Harry’s jaw drops, but he stays grinning somehow, “You are not casually telling me that you used to be a white boy with dreads right now.”

“They’re called locs, actually, dreads is a degrading term,” Louis says, “But yes, I believe I am choosing to share that _dreadful_ part of my past with you.”

“Do you have any photos? I cannot picture this on my own,” Harry wonders.

“You’ll just have to let your imagination run wild,” Louis says. “I only had them for like, a year, and I deleted every reminder as soon as I chopped them off. Can’t have that following me forever.”

“Not now that you’ve turned over a new leaf of arguing against cultural appropriation instead of participating in it,” Harry laughs.

“Yes, people do tend to learn and change throughout the course of their lives, don’t they?” Louis quips.

“You’re a shining example,” Harry says, “And anyway, it’s juvenile to judge someone based on their appearance.” 

“It is,” Louis agrees. Agrees. With something Harry had to say. Did he slip some mind altering drugs into the stew or something?

Harry just blinks back at him like he’s wondering the very same thing. He lingers there for a drawn out moment, before his eyes fall to Louis’s lips for the briefest of seconds. Then Louis watches the bob of his throat as he swallows, and the quick slip of his tongue out over his bottom lip as their gaze connects again.

Would it be the worst thing in the world to lean into it? To just dip his feet into the pool once more, cool himself off from the hot flash memories of touch and tongue between them that suddenly beat down on Louis’s mind like the peak of sun on a summer afternoon?

Louis finds himself compelled to move forward, slowly, gauging whether or not Harry’s on the same page. The way he bites his lip into his mouth suggests he’s also trying to calm himself, although the words that he chooses next completely contradict it.

“I should go,” he breathes like it took every ounce of willpower in him to push them out, leaning backwards to put a few extra inches of space between them.

Louis freezes, blinks his confusion as he pulls away too, “What?”

No way Harry would just leave him stranded out in the ocean like this. The same Harry who’s been lusting after him since day one? The same Harry who acted offended at the very notion of Louis having feelings for anybody who isn’t him? The same Harry who stood in front of a room full of people and confessed his hopeless crush merely weeks ago? No fucking way.

“I’ve got my own homework to catch up on,” Harry says, scooting forward to push himself up to a stand so he’s fully looking down at Louis in his chair now.

“You’re serious?” Louis just gawks.

“As a heart attack,” Harry chuckles this time, settling into that stupid fucking grin with his stupid fucking dimples that give him away time and time again.

“And again, I’m reminded of exactly why I can’t stand you,” Louis makes a threat that sounds as hollow as it feels.

“Well, clearly that’s just not true,” Harry waggles his brows, then leans down to plant his lips right on Louis’s forehead, “Bye, Lou.”

And all he can do is watch Harry’s back as he turns to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is where we take a beat before part 2. Feel free to share any thoughts if you like! :) x


	2. Chapter 2

**L**

Maybe he doesn’t actually like Harry himself, but he’s evolved to a point where he can admit that he likes Harry’s dick. A lot. So much that after a few weeks of business as usual, he finds himself actually _missing_ it. 

It starts slow, with a flash of clothing falling to the floor in their rush to get at each other, a low moan or labored breath here and there, until suddenly he finds himself replaying those few sacred moments between them, can’t stop getting himself off to the handful of memories he has of Harry gagging on his dick and bending him over the bathroom sink.

It’s really quite annoying, the way he’ll be addressing the QSA members coherently until his eyes settle on Harry and he has to pass the torch to Ephie to continue. Or when he looks to his left as the Professor is going on about sexual identity in class and the way that one of Harry’s curls falls in front of his face while he takes notes makes Louis’s cock twitch.

The mullet hair, _really_?

He can admit that before Harry came along, it had been a while. And now that he’s had a taste; a taste of someone like Harry no less, who he is all of a sudden okay with admitting is stupidly attractive, he can’t stop thinking about getting more. If he could just scratch that itch again, maybe it would knock some sense into him.

Harry doesn’t seem to be on the same page anymore though, and it’s driving him up the motherfucking wall.

He puts on his best, butt-hugging jeans for their next meeting, making sure to spend an ample amount of time standing in Harry’s line of vision, turning to the side and to the back as often as he can find.

When Harry happens to be over to hang out with Niall the following night, he hops into the shower, wraps a towel around his waist, and then makes up some excuse to ask his roommate about something so he can stand in the area for ten minutes while he notices Harry trying not to stare for too long.

And at the bake sale fundraiser, he strategically places the cash box next to where Harry’s chosen to set up the massive array of goodies he cooked up for the event.

“Jesus, Harry, how much did you spend to make all this?” He asks while they’re setting everything up in the morning.

Harry’s busy arranging his personal spread of chocolate chip cookies, vegan peanut butter cookies decorated like little pumpkins, pumpkin cheesecake brownies, three different flavors of cake slices, two different kinds of bread loaves, and Rice Krispie treats shaped like bats with orange and black m&ms on top. He looks downright adorable in his focused concentration; brows creased in between, fingers meticulously at work.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry grins, “We’ll make far more off it all anyway.”

“Probably more than we even need, if it’s all as good as it looks,” he says, eyeing the brownie section carefully.

“How dare you suggest anything but,” Harry quips.

“I can only give credit where it’s due,” Louis shrugs.

Harry doesn’t respond at first, simply grabbing one of the brownies from the back of the line like he already knew that’s where Louis would be focused. He watches as Harry carefully peels off the Saran wrapping and holds it out in front of Louis’s face.

“Put your money where your mouth is,” he says.

His nails are painted plum purple again, as Louis has noticed they often are. The fact that he’s suddenly began to wonder if that could be Harry’s favorite color is only further proof of how pent up he is.

Louis hesitates, meeting Harry’s eyes as he slowly leans in to take a bite. And, okay. Suddenly the sex thing just turned into more of a food thing.

“It’s not terrible,” Louis says, muffled by the decadence swirling in his mouth.

“Don’t lie,” Harry says.

“Fine, you’re an excellent chef. Baker. Whatever,” he admits, “It’s heavenly. We’re going to be millionaires.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry hums, “That’ll be two dollars.”

“What?” Louis scoffs.

“You’d be cutting into profits if I didn’t charge you like everyone else!” He insists.

“I didn’t bring any cash,” Louis lies before he can even stop himself, “What if I pay you some other way?”

Is he fucking flirting? With Harry Styles? It has been way too long. He needs to get him naked asap.

Even Harry goes a bit pink at the comment, fighting to hold back a smirk, although he still refuses to take the bait.

“I highly doubt that you showed up to your own organization’s bake sale expecting to collect freebies all day,” he sticks his other hand out palm up, to motion for Louis to hand it over.

“Fine,” Louis sucks his teeth, digging into his pockets for his wallet, then opening the cash box to put it in there instead of Harry’s hand, because he’s pretty sure the skin to skin contact would only send his mind further off the rails.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Harry grins, setting the brownie down on a napkin for Louis to finish at his leisure.

But why does he all of a sudden not want the other business anymore?

Louis would never let it show, but he’s mortified. Is this what Harry felt like in the beginning, putting himself out there time and time again only to be brushed off? It’s so gross because they’re not even dating, so to actually call him out for it would feel completely unjustified especially considering how long Louis made it clear that he was not interested.

And he still isn’t interested in anything more than a casual romp every now and then, but wondering when the next time is coming, or if it ever will, is beyond frustrating.

Maybe that’s Harry’s whole goal; to get him so worked up about it that by the time it does happen again, the anticipation will have made it that much better.

But how could it possibly even get better than it already was?

And what if it doesn’t ever happen again?

Louis really wants it to happen again.

*

“I’m extremely proud to announce that after last week’s bake sale, we’ve surpassed our fundraising goals for this point in time,” Ephie starts off the next morning with a cheer, “We’ve still got the party this weekend, but it’s looking like November might be smooth sailing if the turnout is well.”

“A big thank you to everyone who contributed, especially Harry and Ella who’s own personal competition to out sell each other led to more than half the profits,” Louis tacks on to lead the group in their cheer.

“We both know I won, though,” Harry teases.

Ella elbows him in the side, “Keep dreaming! Me and my donuts way outsold you.”

“Quality over quantity,” Harry argues.

“I dunno, man, did you actually try hers, though? I went back for seconds,” Niall says.

“And thirds and fourths,” she beams, “Saw lots of the same faces come back for more, actually.”

“Did you guys try Harry’s spread though? I swear he put drugs in the brownies because they were fucking addicting,” Louis word vomits all over the room.

“It was a love potion, actually,” Harry grins, wagging his brows Louis’s way, “Now you’ll all be powerless to resist my charm for the rest of your pathetic lives.”

“As if anything’s changed, then,” Ephie rolls her eyes with complete adoration.

“Alright, alright, we’re all amazing and totally in love with Harry,” Louis cannot fucking stop himself, goddammit. Was the sex really that good? He must be over imagining it at this point. It couldn’t have been worth handing his whole entire dignity over on a platter. “Now where is everybody at with planning the actual event?”

Each team gives a rundown of their progress and Louis is more than pleased to hear that they’re all right on track. With winter break creeping in a little closer each day, he expected to have way more anxiety about everything coming together seamlessly. But apparently they’ve managed to assemble a top notch team for the job.

So, they all decide to skip the partying that weekend in favor of another close gathering to celebrate their progress. Sometimes mingling with a crowd of classmates is fun, but it’s always nice to have a more relaxing, intimate hangout too.

It’s his and Niall’s turn to host, but neither of them wants to cook for the whole group, so they end up ordering stupid amounts of pizza and playing card games all night instead.

He finds himself laughing just a little too loud at Harry’s jokes and scooting himself just a little too close. So close he’s buzzing with it, a nice little fuzzy current that travels through every route in his body. And he doesn’t usually put such a conscious effort into his appearance, but he’s been going above and beyond lately. Which really just means actually styling his hair and wearing his nicer button downs as opposed to tee shirts and joggers. 

Tonight, he also chose to dab a couple drops of cologne on his neck and wrists before everyone arrived, knowing he would find himself in exactly this position if everything went according to plan.

And it has to be working, because when he excuses himself to the bathroom, he finds Harry leaned against the wall outside, awaiting his turn next.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says it with an accusatory glare.

“Uh, what exactly are you talking about?” Louis knows to never admit to anything upfront. Always play dumb until someone actually says what they mean.

“You,” he says, “Looking like that. All the giggling and flirting, that ridiculous towel move you pulled last week…” Harry visibly swallows as he recalls, “Stop it.”

“You stop it,” Louis is smug in the way he simply reaches up to adjust the fringe of said hair, standing his ground.

“What am I doing?” Harry gawks.

“Ignoring me,” Louis pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am very clearly not ignoring you, Lou,” Harry says.

“You very clearly have been ignoring my subtle tactics,” Louis argues, “I didn’t even know you’d noticed until now.”

Harry bites into his bottom lip just a bit, hesitating before he admits it.

“You have no idea,” he says.

“Then do something about it,” Louis says, point blank, pushing down all the fear and the nerves and the furious pounding in his chest.

Harry sighs, covering his face for just a brief second as he struggles to keep himself composed.

“Make up your mind,” he says when he’s relaxed again, “Do you want me or not?”

“I want this,” Louis says, letting the way his eyes trace him from head to toe say the rest.

Harry pauses, holding his gaze while he soaks that in. Then he takes a single step closer, because that’s all it takes to bring their lips merely inches away from each other’s. Louis inwardly clutches at himself, trying to hold it together. But they’re right there and Harry is so tall and he smells so good and hell, he is fucking beautiful. Louis will only ever admit that so bluntly after a few beers, but it’s true. How was he so lucky to be born with those lips that were just made to be kissed? How is Louis so lucky to be the one with a sliver of chance to kiss them?

Unfortunately, those lips only place themselves on Louis’s forehead for a quick second. He both melts and begrudges when Harry does that.

“Not what I asked,” Harry practically whispers it against his skin, making absolutely sure no one else can hear.

Then he’s gone. He just walks away, leaving Louis powerless to do anything except watch him go round the corner back into the living room like nothing ever happened.

And that little move is so fucking hot he has to scream. Internally, of course, but boy is it fucking loud in there.

**H**

He. Is. Loving. This.

The whole _make him come to you_ thing is working wonders on Louis. And that works wonders on Harry, too.

He’d forgotten how desirable he actually is. He got so lost in those blue blue eyes he forgot what it was like to be his glowing golden self. 

Not only is Louis into him, even if only for the sex, but other people are too. Since deciding to focus some of his attention elsewhere, he’s reminded of how frequently people fawn over him. Guys are usually more subtle about it, but he could be such a player if he felt so inclined. If his heart wasn’t so infuriatingly monogamous, he could have anyone he wanted.

Except the single person he actually does want. And even that person has suddenly decided to make it clear that Harry could have him in certain ways, if that’s all he was after anymore.

If he wasn’t so hopelessly, uselessly, torturously head over heels for that person.

He can feel Louis’s gaze follow him as he disappears into the other room without him though, so that will have to be enough for now.

“Has anyone else got their outfit for prom already or is that just me planning eons ahead?” Ephie asks as he settles in around the table again.

“Can we at least get through Halloween first? Damn, Ephie,” Liam laughs.

“I can’t help it. I’m so excited!” She laughs at herself, “It’s gonna be like an elegant Halloween, so that’s got to count for something.”

“Party foul!” Louis shouts as he finally reenters the living room. “You know we do not talk about club happenings on hang out nights. Go stand in the corner of shame.”

He points to the farthest corner of the room like that’s something they’re all used to hearing.

“The corner of shame? As if, Lou, you’ve had one too many,” she scoffs.

“No club talk,” he reiterates anyway. “We are all friends beyond the extracurricular association, and these holy nights are meant to remind us of such.”

“Hear that, H?” Niall nods towards him, “Think this means you’re officially one of us.”

“Once Louis accepts you, there truly is no escape,” Zayn agrees. “Trust me, I’ve been trying for years.”

“It’s true, I am the boss,” Louis holds his head high and proud.

“Is the other thing true, too?” Harry nudges his side, “Have you finally accepted me as one of your own?”

There are few things on Earth he loves more than making Louis squirm. Even if it’s not a physical squirming, Harry’s learned to recognize behind his eyes when he’s choosing his words carefully.

“No,” he decides to challenge Harry’s newfound power over him, “Get out of my circle.”

“No,” Harry grins, booping him right on the tip of his nose because he is just that cute when he’s trying to have the upper hand.

Harry keeps telling himself he should leave before he’s the last one standing, because he knows it’ll be even harder to resist if it’s just him and Louis alone, with only Niall standing between them. But at some point after they put on a movie to wind down, the group begins to excuse themselves one by one, and Louis scoots in to lean his head on Harry’s shoulder, and then he’s a fucking goner. He would have to have the mental strength of Tibetian monk to move away from that, and he suspects that’s exactly what Louis was counting on.

“Still not working,” Harry says, hoping to convince himself just as much.

“You’re still here, so I think it is,” Louis hums lowly.

It’s probably somewhere around two am and Harry hasn’t even had enough to drink to justify his own inner refusal to leave. Some stupid part of him just can’t stop getting his hopes up that maybe with enough time, Louis will realize it’s about more than sex for him, too. He’s waiting on a confession that probably doesn’t even exist.

“Well, I have to go,” he says anyway, hoping Louis will ask him to stay.

“Or we could both go… to my room, a mere ten feet away,” Louis whispers this time as he reaches a single finger up to trace around the neckline of his shirt.

Close enough, right?

Harry swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. Pushes away the flashes of him sweating, panting, grinding, begging Harry not to stop making him feel so good.

“Louis,” he starts to say.

“I want you,” Louis interrupts, caressing that hand all the way down from his chest to land on his dick and give it a squeeze through his jeans. Jesus, fuck. He must be gagging for it to be so bold at this point. And that is… something. Harry twitches in response.

“You’re drunk,” Harry tries. He knows Louis is only saying it to get what he wants, but that does nothing to strengthen his resolve. Louis is so goddamn gorgeous. The eyes, the mouth, his fucking body. All those desperate little noises he makes when Harry gets him in just the right spot. Harry is so weak.

“No,” Louis says, “And I want you when I’m sober, anyway.”

“I’m drunk,” he lies. What was the point of trying not to give into this again? He suddenly can’t remember.

“You want me when you’re sober, too,” Louis counters. He’s leaning in more now, moving his hand back up towards the softer skin above the hem of Harry’s jeans, fingers ghosting along the laurel tattoos on his hips in a way that seems to magnetize them forward without a conscious effort.

 _All I fucking do is want you,_ Harry thinks. Screams. Louis is everything.

At least Harry did make him work for it. That was nice while it lasted, but the mere thought of Louis wanting him bad enough that he simply can’t keep hiding behind his pride anymore and the promise of his voice shouting Harry’s name is just too good to walk away from.

At least he did make Louis work for it. That was nice while it lasted.

He surges forward to press their lips into each other’s. It’s only been a few weeks since he was here last and yet it feels like an eternity. Louis’s hands reach for the back of his neck and suction the two of them closer somehow.

Harry could just make out with him forever. He has half a mind to put an end to this before it can go too far. The pure shock of rejection on Louis’s face the other day was priceless. He imagines the reaction he’d get from doing it again, now, when the kissing has already begun and it’s so hot and they’re both a little bit tipsy with nothing but the promise of more, more, more on the way.

And yet, somehow he finds himself pinned to the mattress between Louis’s spread legs as he straddles Harry’s bulge and keeps his lips moving, his hips moving, Harry’s heart on the verge of exploding.

“Stay,” Louis says, as he presses Harry’s wrists down above his head.

Harry just gulps up at him, nodding. He could probably fight him off if he wanted to, but since Harry’s not criminally insane, he simply lets himself melt into the lips that Louis peppers down his neck and chest instead. He kisses, softly nibbles, licks, his way around one of Harry’s nipples,then down the contours of his abs, and licks across the laurels as his hands work to undo Harry’s jeans.

He notices the pattern of the urgency between them, especially now that it’s been a while since they last got to know each other this way. Louis’s mouth is so wet and hungry around him, and it’s the first time Harry’s had this from him so he wants to enjoy it but just the sight of Louis’s mouth swallowing him hole, his cheeks hollowed and then full, the way his eyes glisten as he looks up to catch Harry’s gaze and the way has to Harry bite so hard on his own lip to control the swelling in his gut that he might just tear it clean off his face.

When Louis takes him all the way in it’s like Harry forgets how to breathe, when the air cools his skin while Louis works just the tip it’s like someone’s carved out a cave in his chest for the sound of his own breath to echo right through him. Louis’s hands grip Harry’s hips and hold him in place as he works to swallow him whole like he’s fucking his own mouth with Harry’s dick and that is just. Well.

“Lou, I—” Harry manages to choke it out as he trembles underneath Louis’s grip and immediately regrets it when Louis pulls off, stopping his heart just like that.

“Not yet,” he says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the spit dripping there.

Harry’s hips have a mind of their own at this point, as they roll upwards into the air in search of his release. Louis just watches him squirm with a smirk on his face.

“Shh,” Louis hums, tracing a finger around the edges of Harry’s trimmed hair, along his inner thighs and back up again. “Settle. I’m not done with you.”

“Louis,” Harry hisses, letting his head fall back to the pillow, trying to focus on his own breathing.

“Harry,” Louis hums, replacing his finger with his lips, kissing his way back up Harry’s chest to meet his lips again. He kisses once; tiny and gentle, then reaches for the lube in the top drawer of his bedside table.

“Just finish,” Harry says through gritted teeth, “I can come again.”

“Can you?” Louis wonders.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, although he’s not entirely sure. He’s never come more than once in a single session before, but he’s also never had the pleasure of fucking Louis before. He can’t imagine anything would stop him from getting hard again with all that to work with.

He’d say anything at this point to get Louis to finish what he started, anyways. It’s right there, just within his reach…

“I swear to God if you can’t deliver after making me wait this long…” Louis threatens, but it’s meaningless when his hand snakes its way to Harry’s length and wraps around, tugging him quickly over the edge as Louis looks down at him, Jesus Christ.

Harry convulses forward as he spills over his stomach, every inch of his body and head and fucking everything glowing from the sensation of Louis’s careful hands pulling him through to the other side. Clarity.

Louis looks down at the milky mess he helped make, dances his finger tips through it before bringing them to his own lips for a taste.

“You are,” Harry pants, quickly discovering how right he was about his own abilities, because even though his body is physically spent for the moment, he still has all the mental energy in the world left to flip Louis over and drag his tongue down from nipples to belly, “A dream.” 

He pecks a kiss just above the hem of his jeans.

“Mm,” Louis just hums happily as it’s Harry’s turn to let that desperation compel him into yanking Louis’s pants off, then briefs, and then he pushes Louis’s legs open and hoists them up to prop his bum against his forearms. A moment ago, it seemed like Louis was in control, but now he just goes pliant and lets Harry have at him.

Harry likes eating ass. There’s really no way around it; he likes the taste and the tightness around his tongue, the way people’s knees shake and they grab his hair and their voice gets all weak and shaky. And he really likes Louis, so being granted the honor of eating him out is just a total body experience.

He wonders if this is how it’s supposed to feel with the right person, like no matter how hard you try to completely devour them, no matter how deep you lick or quick or gentle you kiss or even when you curl your fingers at just the right angle to make them squeeze their eyes shut and fucking whimper with it, it’ll never be enough. Like you could just go at it for hours and still want more, still not be satisfied with all the ways you’ve had them.

And then he kind of hates himself for mentally applying the phrase ‘ _the right person’_ to Louis Tomlinson who he doesn’t stand a real chance with beyond the sexual tension constantly bubbling between them. And then he just says a little prayer as he slurps against Louis’s hole that at least if someone is going to do it, it gets to be him.

“Okay, fuck, Jesus, Harry,” Louis pants as he yanks at Harry’s roots to separate his mouth from the promised land. “Come here.”

He pulls the clump of hair to guide Harry back to his mouth and gradually lean forward as they smack together, hands on faces and nails tracing over arms and backs in their shifting positions. It ends up with Louis sitting in his lap, mere inches between them, as Louis reaches behind himself for Harry’s successfully re-hardened length to slide it in himself.

“I’m not,” Harry searches for the right words, “No condom?”

“Are you good?” Louis pauses to look him in the eye. And thank God Harry has made a habit of getting tested on a regular basis, because Louis could’ve asked if he was secretly a one-legged cave monster with that stare and Harry would’ve said _yes_.

He swallows, pushing down the spark of madness in his belly at the idea of maybe possibly getting to come inside of Louis fucking Tomlinson to simply nod.

“Me, too,” Louis smiles, and then he continues where he left off by sinking right down on him like his life depends on it. Harry’s eyes nearly roll back in his head at the squeeze of it.

They both take a moment to adjust, just quietly holding each other’s gaze until reaching the mutual nod of approval to continue.

It all happens so fast and yet, it feels like time is slowed between them when it’s just Louis looking down with Harry’s arms around his waist as their foreheads meet, their lips brush against each other’s and their bodies rock together to find a rhythm. It’s all steamy breaths and sticky skin and Harry can’t tell if it’s his own heart or Louis’s or maybe both that’s pounding in his ears and all throughout his body.

“Yes, fuck, me, God, Harry, oh—” Harry sort of already knew it, but Louis is very vocal in a way that speeds things along even further. He has this scratchy sort of whimper to his tone that makes him sound so fucked and ready for anything. Harry definitely missed being inside him like this, but the pure ecstasy of his pleas further amplifies it til Harry can’t even think anymore.

Louis curls into him like a koala, pushing, pressing, holding himself so close in their grind that Harry loses his grip on the bed and falls onto his back, but Louis just sits up, places his palms flat against Harry’s pecs and fucking rides.

“Jesus, Louis,” Harry can’t help it. Louis is literally sitting on his full length, just gyrating his hips back and forth and moaning with Harry inside him, and somehow even that’s not enough because he lifts himself up to slam back down in a way that knocks the breath right out of Harry’s lungs.

And again, and again, he bites his lip and just uses Harry’s dick like a machine made specifically to please him. If an angel descended from the heavens and gave Harry the opportunity to pick one single memory to relive at his leisure for the rest of his life, it would be this one. And the angel would look like Louis. And then that angel would let him come inside them just like this. Amen.

Harry lulls his head back, letting the warmth around him pull the waves from within him in blinding ripples.

It’s when Louis just keeps going that he thinks he might die. He’s stuttering through it, dizzy and dazed, watching his own length continue to disappear more than a few times as Louis strokes himself to the end, until he hears his own voice whimper like a goddamn baby and he can’t stand a single second more.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wanting nothing more than for Louis to come on his belly just like he does, and then they both breathe a sigh of relief at the same moment as Louis falls to the side, letting half-soft little Harry slip right out of him.

He lies on his back, legs stretched towards Harry’s face while Harry’s feet are propped up on the pillow next to him.

“You are unreal,” Harry says to the ceiling after a few nearly silent minutes.

“And you have yet to disappoint,” Louis mumbles, half whispers it into the pillow, because he’s already begun to drift off to sleep.

Harry can hardly believe his ears at that. It feels too good to be true. That someone as powerful and alluring as Louis could possibly be having those same thoughts about Harry in any capacity.

“Except beyond the bedroom,” Harry chuckles breathlessly, having to mentally command his own muscles to shift himself around, to the top of the bed and rest his head where he belongs.

“In which case, it’s near constant,” Louis agrees, but it’s light hearted. He’s smiling, and his eyes have this gentle affection to them when he looks over to make sure Harry knows he’s joking. Or at least not as serious as he would have been a few weeks ago.

“Well, according to the horny version of you, I’m also an excellent baker and entrepreneur,” Harry teases again. That’s all it is; playful, friendly teasing.

“Towel,” Louis says a moment later, fighting to keep his eyes open all of a sudden.

“I need a minute,” Harry says. Lies. He’s perfectly capable of getting up to search for something to clean them up with, but he doesn’t want to pop the bubble just yet. He’s just going to lay for a little while longer.

**L**

Louis wakes in the morning with his head against Harry’s chest, one arm around him and the other splayed out on the mattress.

“What the fuck,” he curses as soon as the world comes into focus and he’s able to recall last night’s events. Which were phenomenal up until the moment Harry apparently decided it was an invitation to spend the night in his room.

“Mm,” Harry mumbles, still unconscious even as Louis separates himself from the situation.

“Wake up, you idiot,” Louis pushes against his torso.

“Lou?” Harry asks, his voice so soft and raspy with its morning sleepiness that it actually tugs at some invisible string in the pit of his chest.

No time to harp on that, though.

“Get up!” Louis’s voice is demanding but he keeps the volume low out of fear of Niall being awake to hear it.

Finally, Harry scrunches his face tight together and then sits up, blinking his eyes open slowly.

“Wait—oh, shit,” he says, when it finally clicks.

“Oh shit is right,” Louis agrees.

“I am so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Harry apologizes.

“Whatever,” Louis says, honestly brushing it off because the deed is done already. It’s not like he hasn’t accidentally woken up in his fair share of unfamiliar bedrooms before. He just needs Harry out as soon as possible, lest he get the idea that he’s welcome here outside the hours of midnight and six am, “Just get dressed and go before Niall sees you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re that ashamed of your own rodeo skills,” Harry teases, flipping the covers off to fully reveal his bare skin complete with a beautiful picture of morning wood that Louis has to turn away from before his mouth can begin to water.

“ _Harry,_ ” he hisses his warning.

Harry chuckles anyway, although he does catch on to keeping his voice hushed as well. At least Louis can be grateful for that.

“I like the sound of that much better when I’m inside of you,” Harry says as he pulls his briefs and then shorts on.

“Regrettably, so do I,” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Can you really regret something you know you’re gonna do again anyway?” Harry wonders out loud.

“You absolutely can, it’s called an addiction,” Louis argues.

“That’s an interesting way to address your little craving,” Harry grins as he pulls his shirt on next.

“I wasn’t saying—oh, fuck off,” Louis huffs.

“No, I want to hear it,” Harry says, “Tell me again how much you need my cock to function.”

“I’ve never said such a thing,” Louis crosses his arms.

“Heavily implied.”

“If you can’t be mature about it, then this will have to be the last time,” Louis says.

“Have you ever known me to be mature about anything, though?” Harry teases.

“No. And why exactly is it that you just live for pissing me off?” Louis wonders.

“It’s the most emotion I ever get from you outside of screaming for holy mercy when you cum,” Harry says, the honesty of that cutting just as much as it inspires.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Louis dismisses him, nodding towards the door. He’s been over enough times now that he can see himself out.

“Bye, Lou,” Harry sings as he opens it and blows a kiss on his way out.

Louis flips back down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling while his head reels with the memories of his success. His bedsheets smell like sweat and come after falling asleep like the couple of messes they were after all was said and done. Harry came twice—holy shit, and one of them was inside of him, like some exclusive relationship bullshit. What was he thinking?

He’d hoped that taste for Harry might have gone away if he could just have it again to remind him it wasn’t as great as he built it up to be, but the new problem is that it was just as great as he remembered it. Better, actually, if he’s being honest with himself. Harry’s starting to learn what he likes, exactly how to make him go completely insane with it, and that’s a danger if he’s ever known one.

Because the two of them still don’t make any sense beyond their undeniable sexual connection. If he thinks too deeply about it, Harry is infuriating at his core. He’s cocky and gaudy and provocative; nothing like the kind of guy Louis had imagined he’d find someday. Someone classier, tasteful, with a bit of worldly knowledge unlike his own; someone he can learn from and grow with. 

And it’s not as if Louis even wants to think about a forever thing with someone as obnoxious as Harry, anyway, but there’s little harm in enjoying the good parts of it while it lasts.

“Good morning, Niall!” He hears Harry’s voice carry from the kitchen, “I was just letting myself out. Have a lovely day!”

He can picture the grin that’s splitting Niall’s face as he says, “I know you will!”

Louis sighs as he rolls over to hide his face while the front door opens and then shuts again.

**H**

“I’ve done it again,” Harry sighs as he sinks into the cool leather of Ephie’s couch the next evening.

“Done what?” She asks.

“It,” Harry groans, “The thing we decided I should not be doing anymore, for the sake of my mental health and well-being. Why did we decide that again?”

“Oh,” she catches on then, “Because you’re in love with him.”

“So then why shouldn’t I be thrilled to be allowed access to his legs and all the lovely things that happen between them?”

“Because you’re in love with him,” she says again, “And sex is not love, it’s scraps. Unless you’re actually in a relationship, in which case fuck like rabbits for all I care.”

“I don’t actually think it’s love,” Harry sighs, swallowing down the metallic taste of denial, “But it’s… something. I think I’m okay with just the fucking like rabbits part for now, though.”

“You’ll tell yourself that, sure,” Ephie says. “It might even be true for now, but one day you’ll see a cute couple or something else that reminds you of him and you’ll want more, and he won’t be able to give it to you, and then all your friends, me included, will be left to help you pick up the pieces.”

She’s very wise and Harry hates her for it. She’s saying things that he already knows somewhere in the pit of his soul, which is exactly why he brought the issue up to her, because he also knows she’ll tell him what he needs to hear. Even if he’s not ready to listen just yet.

“Sounds a little too specific,” he mumbles under his breath.

“It is,” she chuckles, “Because I’ve been that girl before, H, and I’ve watched people I love put themselves through it too, so I know it rarely ends well.”

“Well, aren’t you supposed to like, defend your other friend or something?” He huffs anyway, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest.

“You know I love Lou, and I’m not saying he’s going to hurt you on purpose,” she explains, “But he’s already told you he doesn’t want more, so I’m just preparing you for the worst.”

“What if we’re the rare case, though?” Harry asks. “Why not prepare me for the best?”

“Why don’t you tell me what your best case scenario is, then?” She prompts.

“Love and marriage and puppies and babies, obviously,” Harry says it much lighter than it feels, purposely distracting himself by nibbling on the cookie in his hands.

“You’re such a hopeless romantic,” she chuckles. “It’s sweet. I think we could all use a tad more of that in our lives. Louis included.”

“You especially,” he nudges her in the side.

“Please,” she scoffs, “My best case scenario is to end up as the single rich aunt who flys in for holidays with a bunch of lavish gifts for all her dirty little nephews.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry sucks his teeth in defeat. 

He does love love. He does tend to idealize things. He does usually hope for the best. Especially for his friends and other loved ones. He also forgets that not everyone’s definition of happy is the same as his own, so hoping for them to find their own love story might have ended in a couple let downs here and there before.

“Only if you shame me for it,” she shrugs.

**L**

“Nice,” Niall laughs as soon as Harry opens the door in a black latex bodysuit, complete with built in cat ears, eye mask covering the top half of his face, silver septum swapped out for a black one tonight, and his favorite pearl necklace settled above the shape of his collarbones.

Louis watches his eyes as they trace him from to toe in their assessment. Then Harry stretches an arm up towards the top of the door frame and leans his body against the side of it. His tall, lean, body, along with every muscle in it. Including the visible bulge between his legs.

“We’ve both gone superhero themed,” he hears the grin in Harry’s voice before he’s able to tear his eyes away from the view to actually witness it. “All of us, really. Nice Naruto digs,” he nods towards Niall.

“Thanks. I thought it was fitting,” Niall grins.

“Is Catwoman a hero, though?” Louis can’t resist the rebuttal to Harry’s observation.

“Same universe,” Harry shrugs, “Though, I could be a villain if that’s what you prefer.”

“Selina Kyle was definitely a thief,” he maintains. He’s chosen to show up as The Flash, who is definitely not arguable as anything but a hero, so in the name of distancing himself from Harry, he simply must acknowledge that distinction.

“Does stealing from the rich actually count, though?” Niall counters.

“Technically, you’d still be considered a thief,” Harry says, finally reverting back to a stand so the trio can head off down the hallway, “In the eyes of the law, anyway. And we all know how important that distinction is to Lou.”

“Don’t say that like I’m a nerd or something,” Louis scoffs.

“You’ve gone soft,” Niall agrees, “Used to drive me crazy with all that talk of oppression and fuck the establishment shit. Couldn’t have one night out without you forcing everyone to consider the implications of their actions or what the fuck ever.”

“And it’s still fuck the establishment to this day!” Louis says, “The system’s still bullshit, I’ve just taken a more diplomatic approach to subverting it.”

“Say _fuck the establishment_ again, I’m close,” Harry’s simultaneously joking while still managing to practically salivate all over the floor.

“Oh, keep it in your pants,” Louis rolls his eyes.

“For now, anyway,” Niall jokes, and the two of them reach up to high five each other.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your staring, Lou,” Harry dimples his cheeks and waggles his brows.

“You’ve got the whole thing on display like a fucking blinking neon sign to let the world know you’re open,” Louis counters, very deliberately keeping his eyes focused on their path through the lobby as they exit the building.

“They can look, but they can’t touch,” Harry chuckles, “I’m only open for you.”

“Well, isn’t that romantic?” Louis quips.

“Kind of is, actually,” Niall comments, “You could both be sleeping around if you wanted to.”

“Maybe I am,” Louis shrugs.

“Well, we’re all fucking the establishment, aren’t we?” Harry jokes. And for once, it’s actually funny.

He and Niall start a chuckle that crescendos into the laughter floating above their heads and disappearing into the night sky.

*

“You look good enough to eat,” Louis finds himself whispering against the vein in Harry’s neck as they stumble backwards into a bedroom.

It took about two hours and more than a few drinks for the two of them to be drawn upstairs like magnets, hands grabbing hips and arms as their lips smack together. The two of them made an attempt to be social, of course. It is their club’s event, so Louis being the leader had to man the admission box at the door for a bit and then make his rounds as co-host.

By the time Ella came to take his place, he wasn’t nearly as buzzed as he could be, so he and Zayn dressed as Jack Sparrow headed towards the kitchen for some shots to finally get him into the party. Then, as they poured out a few at once, Harry came to join them. He made Louis try some kind of whiskey and rum concoction he was drinking, which turned out to actually be quite good, so Harry practically jumped at the chance to get one made for Louis, too.

It used to annoy him how nice Harry is. It felt like an act, like he was just sucking up to get people to like him. Especially in contrast with his outwardly aggressive presentation. Louis didn’t trust it. And maybe there’s a small part of him that still can’t quite comprehend the simple fact that someone so genuinely warm and thoughtful can exist in the same body as someone who looks like he shoots heroin in shady back alleys and sometimes acts like a stupid, reckless high schooler trying to show off in front of his friends, but at least it’s obvious Harry’s not faking any of it anyway.

He really is the sort of guy to make dinner for a friend, even though that friend lost their bet for him to do so. The sort of guy to accompany their friend to an abortion clinic and even take a beating for them when things get heated. The kind of person to _Treat People With Kindness_ even towards someone who’s made their distaste for him obvious from their first meet. It’s no wonder people like him, even when, in Louis’s case, they might start off thinking they don’t.

“Me?” Harry breathes it to the heavens as he tilts his head back to allow access, “You’re like, like… a five course meal, always. Literally always.”

“Be my dessert, then,” Louis scrapes his teeth lightly over the skin there, vein pulsing underneath.

“Uh, excuse me, you fucking cornballs,” Zayn’s voice coupled suddenly startles him out of his haze of latex pheromones and fancy Gucci cologne.

“Shit!” Louis curses, turning abruptly, distinctly noticing how Harry’s fingers still grip the fabric around his waist.

Zayn is sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed next to Liam, who’s lying down with the duvet pulled up over his equally bare chest, mortified.

“Ziam, hello,” Harry casually waves, “Mind if we join you?”

Louis smacks him in the arm, making his whole face curl up in amusement.

“What the fuck,” Louis blinks in pure shock, “Are you guys…?”

“Ziam,” Zayn hums, completely ignoring Louis’s question, “I like it.”

“Thanks, I’m drunk,” Harry grins, “I meant to say both your names separately, but it works, doesn’t it?”

“What do you think, Liam?” Zayn turns over his shoulder to address him directly.

“I think I’m going to dissolve into nonexistence if you two don’t get the fuck out of here right now,” Liam sinks further down into the covers.

“Sure thing,” Harry gives a two finger salute as he starts tugging Louis back under the threshold, “Enjoy your dessert.”

“Enjoy yours!” Zayn calls after them with laughter in his tone.

“Oh my God,” Louis is still reeling as they stumble into the next open room together, this time with Harry’s lips at his throat in an attempt to bring him back to the moment, “I had no idea. I wonder how long that’s been going on? They’re good!”

“Mm, I’m not surprised,” Harry kisses down his neck like it’s a habit, all too familiar with the spots he likes best by this point.

“You’re not?” Louis asks as he lets himself be laid out on the bed so Harry can work his way even further down. He shrugs out of the red mesh fabric over his shoulders, letting the rest of it be peeled down to his waist as Harry explores him.

“They’ve always been oddly close. Had you not noticed?” Harry says to his bellybutton as he plants his lips right over it.

“Guess not,” Louis hums as he looks up at the ceiling while Harry wiggles his pants over his knees and to his ankles, “But why didn’t they tell me? We’re supposed to be friends!”

“Maybe that was their first time,” Harry suggests, though with an obvious lack of real concern, “Or maybe they’ve just decided to kick you out of the group.”

“Ha ha,” Louis feigns, deciding that it does seem a bit ridiculous to be focused on his friend’s love lives while he’s currently got a beautiful man of his own working to catch his attention, “Maybe they figured I’ve just been too distracted…”

This time it’s Harry’s turn to grin as he presses his hand against Louis’s cock through his skin tight super suit and the briefs underneath.

“By what could that be?” He asks, bobbing his head down to take it in his mouth.

It’s all so very hurried as it usually is. He suspects Harry feels differently, but for him he doesn’t want to think too much about what they’re doing. Or can’t, won’t, refuses to. He just wants to feel it. He likes being devoured by Harry, likes melting into his touch and the way their bodies blend together, likes the heat of desperation to just grab what they can while they can, in the moment. He likes rushing to get to the most intimate parts of him like it’s both his first and last time.

When they’re done rolling around and collapse next to each other, still completely naked after having peeled off their costumes and not wanting to bother with shimmying them back on just yet, they just lie there to catch their breath before Harry finally has the air in him to say, “Oh, I’ve just remembered something I wanted to show you.”

“Can it wait? I’m not sure I’m ready to go again just yet,” Louis says.

“Not that,” Harry laughs as he gets up to grab his phone from where it had fallen to the floor, “Arguably better? Or worse, depending on how you spin it.”

He holds up his phone to reveal a photo of Louis in high school, with one arm draped over Zayn’s shoulder as they each hold up a lit blunt and grin towards the camera. Louis has his head full of the mess of embarrassing, matted clumps of hair he used to call locs tied up into a big bun atop his head.

“Stop it!” Louis nearly screeches as he tries to grab the phone away, but Harry snatches it up before he can. “Where did you get that?”

“I have my ways,” he simply laughs.

“Which one of those traitors sent it to you?” Louis narrows his eyes, “It must have been Niall.”

“No one sent it to me,” Harry assures him, “I’m a thief, remember?”

“Not with your suit on the floor, you aren’t,” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Oh, but I am,” Harry grins, “Only from huge corporations, though. Ya know, fuck the establishment and all that.”

“Harry, are you serious?” Louis gapes, “Like, still, at your age?”

“Does that make you regret what we’ve done here?” Harry teases with a fake gasp, fingertips spread and pressed over his heart for dramatics.

“I just meant, like,” Louis hesitates, struggling with how to properly phrase it in the midst of his post-coital slash tipsy brained haze, “Okay, I think I’m going to tell you something, but I don’t want it to change anything between us.”

“What is there to change between us?” Harry wonders.

“I just meant that I like the way things are now,” Louis clarifies.

“With you fake-hating me while I patiently wait for you to accept my affections?” Harry asks, so cool and casual as always.

“Yeah okay, never mind. Bad idea,” Louis huffs.

“Oh, come on,” Harry nudges him with his foot, “I’m teasing. What were you going to say?”

“No, the misguided moment of trust is gone,” Louis says.

“Louis,” Harry whines, “I promise your secret is safe with me, whatever it is.”

“You don’t deserve my honesty,” he crosses his arms in rigidity.

“I totally do!” Harry objects, “What reason do you honestly have not to trust me?”

Louis still side eyes him for a moment, but he does have a point. And also there’s a part of him that kind of wants Harry to understand him a little better, like they’re actual friends or something. But that simply must be the liquor talking.

“Okay,” he agrees, slumping his arms down again, “I was going to say that… I guess, the reason I react so harshly to your legitimate acts of protest,” he hesitates for just a moment, looking up at Harry’s expectant face, waiting patiently, forest green softening him under its gaze, “Is because I’m afraid.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth pulls up ever so slightly into a half smile.

“Sweet as that is, you don’t have to worry about me,” he says, and then Louis realizes how that must have sounded to his love struck ears.

“I’m worried about myself,” he clarifies, looking down at his lap again. Maybe he does kind of worry about Harry in the same way, but regardless it wasn’t what he meant.

“I don’t come from a poor family, but certainly not well off either,” he tries to explain, “So as soon as I started applying to schools and actually getting accepted, I started thinking about my future more seriously. I didn’t think I could even afford a University, so I knew that once I got here, I couldn’t let the opportunity to make something of myself slip away.”

“So what I’m hearing, correct me if I’m wrong,” Harry says, “Is that you also used to be more radical in your ways, but you gave it up for a college degree.”

“Not just the degree,” Louis says, “For like, the possibility to create long term changes in the world. It’s fucked, but you can catch a felony for peaceful protests, let alone the violent ones. What would I even do with that on my record? How would I be able to affect change on a higher level, or a more personal one, or whatever I decide to do after this?”

“All very valid concerns,” Harry affirms.

“Then how are you not worried about any of it?” Louis wonders. Some part of him envies Harry’s fearlessness, however much of a detriment to himself it may be. It takes a lot to scare Louis, but clearly even more to scare Harry.

“I am,” Harry says, but if a voice could shrug he’d have mastered it. “Every single day, I worry. About the state of this country. Human rights, healthcare, climate change, police brutality, all the -isms and phobias, mental illness, widespread homelessness, wealth hoarding and the decline of the economy, my fucking credit score for Christ’s sake. Student debt! Sometimes I feel like all I ever do is worry and hurt, and it makes me so fucking angry to think about how unfair and inhumane it all is. How do people not want to physically tear things down and scream in the streets every day?”

His brows have scrunched together now, mouth turned down into a frown, looking genuinely distressed.

Oh, God. Harry’s actually a heart of gold underneath that rough and tough exterior.

Louis swallows the lump in his throat and pushes down that stupid bubbly feeling in his chest.

“Well,” Louis sighs, “I wish I had something comforting to say, but you’re right. We’re all fucked.”

“It’s sweet that you want to comfort me, though,” Just like that he’s back to his softened exterior, and then Louis begins to suspect he might be using humor as a coping mechanism because he adds, “How bout another blowjob? That might work.”

Louis snorts at his joke anyway. It does make things a bit easier.

“I’m closing up shop until you delete that photo of the old me,” he says.

Harry makes a dramatic show of grabbing for his phone, quickly opening the photo app and pressing the tiny garbage can icon to make it vanish a moment later.

Louis laughs, and then because it feels easy and natural to do in this drunken midnight hour, he leans in for another kiss. A kiss that feels a bit strange, like it’s too soft or something. Louis doesn’t feel the spark in his gut but it bounces through the hollows of his chest this time.

**H**

Louis might have his own legitimate reasons for shying away, but Harry still feels a bit shamed for protesting the only way that makes sense to him. It’s conflicting, because part of him doesn’t feel guilty at all; feels empowered, even. Grueling as it is to still be fighting for basic human decency in a country that prides itself on freedom and equality, at least he can be a part of something greater than himself, and at least all the privilege he carries on a daily basis can serve a purpose in this world somehow. 

The other part of him is still hopelessly pining for Louis’s affections, and he knows that every step he takes towards breaking up a fight or igniting one on his own only pushes him further away.

So he asked Ephie and Zayn to keep this one to themselves, just in case. It’s not like he’s going out with the intent to cause mischief, but he’s certainly never been afraid to step in when the situation calls for it. Most of the time at these events, nothing even happens within his scope of influence, and that’s perfectly fine because he only came to support the cause, anyway. Sometimes that means getting physical, and sometimes it simply means lending a voice when asked and shutting the fuck up to let others speak when appropriate.

“So, how’s your white guilt feeling after tonight?” Zayn asks on their way home that night.

“Not about me,” Harry says, but it’s absent minded. He’s staring out the window, watching the night blur around them, thinking of the bigger picture and trying to squelch the feeling of uselessness bubbling up within him. Like for all they’ve seen and heard and done in just one night, let alone the movement in general, nothing’s really changing.

“The whole human race should all be out here, every night, shouting and fucking things up until there’s no need anymore,” he adds, bringing himself back to the quiet hum of the darkened van.

“We shouldn’t have to be out here at all,” Ephie doesn’t often whisper, and still her voice lands just above it now, but it’s the softest Harry's ever heard it before. “Human rights should just be a given.”

“There’s always going to be something fucked up about the world, though,” Zayn reminds them, “I’m not saying we shouldn’t be doing what we can, obviously, but like, all we can do now is try to undo it. We can’t stop living our lives in the name of those who’ve lost theirs.”

“We should, though,” Harry says, “Imagine if everything stopped for a solid few months or so and everyone just stood their ground until things changed? Not just for black people but for every marginalized group around the world.”

“You’re living in a dream,” Ephie says. “It’s a nice dream to live in, but it’s hard to believe we’ll ever get to see it.”

Harry sighs, falling back against the seat as they lapse into silence for a few minutes.

“Sadly, unless we’re in positions of power, the most we can do is our best to make them listen,” Zayn says, nodding the van into a somber silence.

*

“How was your weekend?” Louis asks as he slides into his desk on Tuesday.

“Fine,” Harry says. He went out again on Saturday night and didn’t get home till Sunday afternoon, but what Louis doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Get up to anything interesting?” Louis pries. Things always seem to feel a bit more tense between them when there’s no alcohol involved.

“Uh, mostly just, um, hung out with friends,” he doesn’t technically lie, because his friends were there on Friday night. Then it was just him and Ephie on Saturday, and Zayn and Angel came along to join them later on.

“Sounds cool,” Louis hums, seeming like he’s trying to resist asking, “What did you guys do?”

Harry looks up from his book, catching Louis’s gaze for a moment that feels so bizarrely tense.

“You’re very friendly today,” Harry notices.

Louis shrugs, “Just making conversation.”

“What did you get up to this weekend?” Harry flips it around on him.

“Nothing exciting at all,” Louis chuckles. “Hung around the house, got some work done, ate a bunch of junk food.”

“Sounds like you missed me,” Harry grins.

“As if,” Louis says, then follows up with, “I guess it would have been nice to have a home cooked meal. Niall was in and out all weekend, so it was Ramen and cereal for me.”

“You terrify me,” Harry jokes, “I am going to stock your fridge with fresh fruits and veggies to make sure you’re getting your proper nutrition.”

“Don’t waste your money,” Louis waves him off.

“I’ll force feed you. It’s for your own good,” Harry insists.

Louis looks him up and down in a way that he’ll certainly never admit to, pausing on his waist for the briefest of moments before it’s all eye contact again.

“Are you alright, though?” He asks, nearly out of the blue.

“Am I alright?” Harry quirks his head to the side. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just that, um,” Louis hesitates, “I happened to see you marching on Saturday night… So I just wanted to make sure that everything went well. No injuries.”

Harry swallows heavily.

“You saw me?” He bristles, “Were you there too?”

“No,” Louis says, “It was my study weekend.”

“I thought so,” Harry says, “Did someone sell me out, then?”

“No, Harry,” Louis sighs, “A classmate of mine, not any of our friends, posted something to their Instagram story. I thought it looked like you in the background, but I wasn’t sure until now.”

“Well, aren’t you a slick bastard,” Harry hums.

Louis shrugs. “I just wanted to see if you’d tell me yourself.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Harry’s voice is curt.

“That’s very true,” Louis agrees, although he still lingers, trying to figure out a way to say what’s on his mind, “But I, uh. Just want you to know that if you ever aren’t fine… it’s cool to like, not hide that from me. If you don’t want to.”

“I’m not hiding anything from you,” Harry fully lies this time, heart slamming against his chest. Where is this sudden change of heart coming from? It couldn’t possibly mean what Harry wants it to mean, could it?

“Like, in the beginning, it was definitely out of pure rage that I wanted to confront you about it,” Louis keeps going anyway, “And now it’s kind of like, I dunno. Concern?”

Harry looks up, letting his brows raise, but not knowing what to say just yet.

“I mean,” Louis nervously clears his throat. How fucking adorable. “I wondered about you. Maybe even worried, for like half a second before I talked myself out of that.”

Is this really happening?

“So you actually don’t want to see me get arrested? That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Harry chuckles it off, ignoring the pulsing in his veins, the heat rising to his cheeks. Louis worried about him.

“I never said that much,” Louis rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

“And now you’ve just topped it with that statement,” Harry coos.

“Oh, Jesus, Harry, I’m sorry I even asked,” Louis grumbles, opening his book to a seemingly random page and sticking his nose in it to avoid the conversation.

He’s so cute when he gets all frustrated.

“I’m fine,” Harry assures him. “No head injuries or black eyes this time, as you can see.”

“Great,” Louis says. He still doesn’t look up again.

“How are you doing?” Harry prompts, trying to get his attention again.

“I’m great,” Louis says.

“Sure you didn’t get abducted by aliens or something?” Harry prompts, “Fall and hit your head in the shower? Are you actually Louis’s evil twin coming to assimilate and destroy his life? Because admitting that you care about me is a bit concerning.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis bristles. “All you do is complain that I have no feelings, but then whenever I show you that’s not true, you act like this. I’d rather just let you think I’m a monster.”

“I don’t think that at all,” Harry says. “Quite the opposite; I think you’re an angel. A big, soft, lovey dovey, sweetheart.”

“Enough!” Louis huffs, but it’s hard to miss the cherries of his cheeks going all bright and hot, “Again, I’m sorry I asked.”

“I’m not,” Harry grins. It hurts how wide he’s suddenly grinning and how impossible it is to wipe it off his face.

Despite what his friend’s opinions of their strange little arrangement might be, it’s perfectly clear to Harry that as a romantic prospect, Louis is definitely not a lost cause.

**L**

“Some fund-rais-y things to go over today,” Ephie kicks off at the QSA meeting the next day, “We’ll be holding a double feature movie event in the theater next Sunday evening. Round of applause to Angel for persuading their video production class to donate some crucial equipment to make it possible.”

“What movies?” Ella asks over the roaring sound of everyone’s hands clapping together. 

“We’ll be showing Parasite and Little Women,” Ephie says, “Since they basically swiped the boards at the Oscars this year, it’ll be our best chance to draw the biggest crowd possible.”

The room buzzes with a bit of chatter about how it was so good and so and so’s performance blew someone away. 

“Prom committee can stay afterwards to go over assignments related to that,” Louis takes over to draw their attention back to matters at hand. 

“Please don’t forget to check out the bulletin board outside the room, too,” Ephie continues, “We’ve got some fliers posted with info about some individual members who’ve chosen to offer their goods and services in tutoring to painting to an array of hand-embroidered crafts, including some wonderfully gay tee shirts for anyone interested.”

“And of course, be sure to check the social medias for more info and regular updates as usual,” Louis wraps up announcements for her, leading their transition into the hot political topics of the week, followed by a brief group sharing session, and then into the prom planning afterwards. 

And _after_ afterwards, it just so happens that Harry lingers behind for a bit longer than everyone else. As one of the prime marketers for the committee, it’s not like he has any crucial details to be taking notes on, so it’s perplexing that he’s busy jotting things down in his little notebook as the silence of the empty room grows between them. 

He’s got one little stray curl that’s swooshed across his forehead, and as Louis studies it he also notices that the sides of his mullet are starting to grow back. He tries hard not to notice the way that the stupid hairstyle seems to work for Harry all of a sudden, instead of being the single most physically off-putting thing about him from day one.

It’s chilly enough out that he’s begun to pair his ratty old band tees with some cozy looking flannels; today’s choice being a black, purple, and grey array. The holes that start at his knees and go to his mid-calf seem to contradict the effort he’s made to warm his top half, but the old studded boots he’s worn since the beginning of time probably make up for it. He smells like fresh linen with faint notes of something crisp and sweet. 

It startles Louis when his eyes flicker upwards to land on his without raising his head a single inch. 

“Just wondering what you could possibly be working on,” Louis pulls the excuse out of thin air.

“A detailed sketch of the picturesque beauty sitting before me, of course,” Harry beams, dimpling his cheek on one side.

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Shouldn’t you be studying for finals or something?” 

“Finals… at the end of December,” Harry fully lifts his head now to quirk it inquisitively, “Over a month away.”

“Yes,” Louis emphasizes. “Is now not an appropriate time to start reviewing?” 

“Maybe for some,” Harry shrugs, “But I’m not worried about it. Are you?”

“I like to be extra prepared, I guess,” he says it through gritted teeth, because since getting to University he’s never been the type of person who doesn’t worry about testing. Some people can just take notes and sleep soundly after that, but he’s had to work for every A he’s ever achieved. 

“Would you like some help?”

“Huh?” Louis asks, confused.

“Tutoring,” Harry nods to the bulletin board on the other side of the wall behind him. 

“ _You’re_ a tutoring volunteer?”

“No,” Harry admits with a chuckle in his voice, “But for you? I’d be happy to figure out some helpful study techniques.”

His first instinct is to decline, of course. What could Harry possibly have to offer him in terms of studying for classes that largely don’t even overlap, considering the difference in their degree programs?

But that little horny voice in the back of his head clings to the notion of the two of them alone in the privacy of a living room or possibly a bedroom, and it whispers filthy things that inspire him to consider another option. 

Still, he treads carefully with his acceptance to save face. 

“I think I’ll take you up on that, actually.”

Harry’s brows rise to his forehead and his eyes bulge out in disbelief. Of course he didn’t expect that to go anywhere. Neither did Louis, really. He can only hope that Harry gets the message he’s really lacing throughout it. 

“Cool. Uh, well. Okay then. I love studying,” Harry clears his throat, then Louis watches his grin spread from one ear to the other as his head catches up, “Love a nice mouthful of study time. A good dip in the study hole.”

“Christ, Harry,” Louis sighs, somehow simultaneously pleased that they’re on the same page and yet, eternally annoyed by his obnoxious way of addressing it.

“Yeah, like that, but a bit more high pitched,” this time Harry leans in slightly as he lowers his voice in that familiar, sultry way.

“Look at that, I’ve changed my mind all of a sudden,” Louis half-jokes, although he drops his eyes to the messy paper array of club happenings printed on the table beneath him.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Harry barks out a laugh, “Thursday is my only free weekday, so I hope that works for you.” 

The power shift of Harry simply telling him versus asking him does prickly things to his insides. 

“See you tomorrow, then,” Louis mutters it to the desk.

**H**

When he arrives at Louis and Niall’s the next night, it’s with his book and backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s been in their apartment quite a few times before, but this is the first time it’s on Louis’s invite. On Louis’s _sexy_ invite. Possibly? He didn’t seem like he was actually interested in studying anyway, and Harry’s certainly not new to hooking up, but Louis is an exception because Harry can’t ever seem to get a solid read on him. Which might be part of the appeal in itself.

He’s got lit candles set on the side tables by the couch and the tv stand, though. That seems like a positive sign. Or maybe Harry’s reading too much into things again. Maybe he just likes to study by candlelight. 

“I see you’ve already set the mood,” he teases as he drops his bag onto the floor and sits on the farthest cushion available. It smells like apple cider and makes the room glow warm as Louis looks in his oversized knit sweater and sienna shorts.

“You didn’t think this was actually about studying, did you?” Louis asks.

He kind of finds it less believable that Louis would be so receptive to having him over as a blatant booty call, but suddenly he finds himself being pushed backwards against the cushions as Louis straddles his waist and he happily melts into the nonsensical ways of the world.

“I thought you might at least try to pretend,” Harry breathes when they part long enough for Louis’s lips to find his jaw. 

“Why waste time?” Louis counters. 

It feels like things are different now. What started as a one-off thing has suddenly started to feel like the beginnings of a routine. And though the idea of fucking Louis on a regular basis is enough to have him slowly hardening under the grind of the hips rocking against him, he can’t figure out why his nerves are suddenly so alive this time.

**L**

It happens nearly the same next week, except Harry’s obvious butterflies seem to have fluttered off into the breeze because he’s back to being handsy and greedy all on his own. He managed to get their shirts off as soon as Louis shut the door behind, leaving a trail of clothing to mark their path through Harry’s apartment and to his room. 

And the things he did were… well, maybe part of the reason Louis keeps coming back is because he’s never found someone so obsessed with or even capable of sucking the life out of him through his dick before. He’s getting all hot and squirmy just thinking about it. 

How can someone’s mouth possibly be made to fit so perfectly around another’s length? Like it was created with the sole purpose of bringing Louis to bliss every single time. And the determination. He’s quickly come to learn that Harry refuses to stop until they’ve both emptied themselves in someone’s mouth or on someone’s skin or inside—

“That was fun last night,” Harry whispers against the shell of Louis’s ear from behind, startling the hell out of him because he, Ephie, and Angel were supposed to be the only ones in the production box for movie night.

“Holy shit!” Louis actually jumps at least a couple inches off the ground. Maybe only partially because of Harry’s physical presence, but moreso that he just had to appear while Louis was busy spacing off with the image of his own dick being milked for all it’s worth. 

Everyone laughs, especially Harry whose arms are stuffed full of concessions from the stands they set up downstairs. 

“What are you doing?” Louis grumbles, crossing his arms as he pouts. “This box is for the production team only.” 

“He’s cool,” Ephie waves him forward. 

“I bribed the leading lady so I could be next to you,” Harry waggles his brows with a grin.

“As if I could be bought so easily,” she laughs. “I only allowed it on the condition that he make sure we’re fully stocked and hydrated all night.” 

“So you’re our private attendant,” Louis summarizes. 

“Of course,” Harry smiles as he enters to drop the goodies in his arms off on the table to the side, “You know I’m always happy to attend to your privates, Lou.”

Angel snorts. Ephie grins. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I don’t see any drinks on that table,” he says.

“What would you like?” Harry asks. 

“Root beer float,” Louis requests.

“Is that on the menu?” Angel perks up. “I didn’t see it anywhere.”

“It’s not,” Ephie gives Louis a pointed look. 

“It won’t be a problem, regardless,” Harry keeps up the perfect server facade. “And for you all?”

“I’ve got my water, babe. Thank you, though,” Ephie says. 

He looks towards Angel. 

“Two root beer floats?” They quirk their head to one side. 

“Two root beer floats, coming right up,” Harry practically sings it as he flutters out of the room again. 

“Very excited to see how this goes,” Angel comments. 

“He’s probably just going to get two root beers and ice creams, then drop it in himself,” Louis shrugs. He purposely chose something that would make his task just a bit more difficult, but maybe he should’ve just given him a completely impossible task instead.

“That’s so sweet of him,” Angel says.

“Saintly,” Louis paints his agreement with sarcasm.

When Harry finally returns to hand him his drink, it’s even got a little dollop of whipped cream and a cherry on top. 

“There better not be any special ingredients in this,” Louis squints, scrunching his brows together as he glares.

“Just a bit of extra love,” Harry coos. 

“I hope that’s code for liquor,” Louis sucks on the straw in his glass. 

“You know that’s inappropriate while we’re at a school event, Lou,” Ephie scolds. 

“Who’s gonna rat me out?” He sticks his tongue out. 

*****

“You are basically dating him,” Liam has the nerve to suggest as they’re all gathered around the Friendsgiving dinner table at Zayn’s place, because somehow Harry always manages to wedge his way into the group even when he’s not actually present to do so.

“What the fuck,” Louis nearly drops his fork, stopping mid bite to lower his scoop of mac and cheese back to the plate in front of him.

He was actually beginning to enjoy Harry’s absence because it feels like things have gone back to normal a bit, when it used to be just the four of them on campus. Luckily, they all come from out of state, so even though it’s too expensive to fly home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas break, at least he’s never left alone for the former.

Harry only lives about an hour’s drive away from school, so he went home for the holiday, which has apparently left the door open for his friends to discuss the happenings of their sex life at the dinner table.

“He’s got a point,” Zayn agrees through his chewing, “You seem to spend quite a bit of non sexual time together as of lately. Niall said he’s staying the night now?”

“He _accidentally_ stayed over _once!_ ” Louis objects, shooting Niall a glare from across the table, “And I gave him the boot as soon as we were both conscious enough to realize it.”

“But explain all the dinners,” Niall says.

So what if Harry likes to cook? And if he happens to come over more than once a week to do so? It’s not as if he’s exclusively cooking for Louis, seeing as one of those weeknights is after Harry and Niall’s gym session and Louis only emerges from his room to grab a plate and give them their space.

“Why don’t you explain them, Niall? Since you’ve apparently made yourself the expert on my personal business lately,” Louis quips.

Niall just laughs it off.

“We’re friends,” he says cooly, “What’s your excuse?”

“We’re friends,” Louis fires right back. 

It’s the first time he’s ever actually fully admitted it out loud, though. He never saw that coming. Harry would probably bust a nut right there at the dinner table had he been present to hear it.

“With benefits,” Niall insists, “Boyfriend benefits.”

“By that logic, you’d be my boyfriend too,” Louis rolls his eyes, pushing around the bits of turkey biryani on his plate as a distraction, “We’d all be boyfriends, seeing as we’re literally sitting around a table of things we cooked for each other.”

“Sounds hot,” Zayn grins, making the other two who are not Louis laugh.

“Z and I actually were friends with benefits for a while, if that means anything to you at all,” Liam chimes in.

“It means absolutely nothing to me besides that you guys are filthy, conniving little liars,” Louis waves his fork between the two of them, “Harry and I are different. Sure, okay, I’ll admit that despite all odds, maybe we’ve managed to develop a friendship. But at the end of the day, he’s still Harry. I could never _date_ him.”

“Harry and I,” Niall notices, nudging Liam in the side and sending them both grinning like madmen again.

“Oh, all of you, get fucked,” Louis huffs.

“Why couldn’t you date him, though?” Zayn asks, popping another bite into his mouth as he looks expectantly at Louis for an answer.

“Because he’s…” Louis hesitates. 

He’s smart and strong and funny and sweet and brave and outgoing and charismatic and observant, with a heart of gold and a dick gifted from the heavens, and that’s not even getting started on his smile; those stupid dimples and the perfect teeth, not to mention the eyes that seem to hold all the secrets of the universe and… and… 

“He’s chaotic.”

Boyishly immature, in too many ways. Dangerously reckless. Overtly sexual. And he has the fashion sense of a sixteen year old rebel.

“You used to be chaotic, Lou,” Zayn reminds him.

“And then I grew up,” Louis counters.

“Shame,” Niall sucks his teeth and shakes his head somberly. “I think you guys are quite cute together.”

“You’d just rather live vicariously through me because your dream girl will never love you back,” Louis snaps.

“Ooh, here come the claws,” Niall just laughs it off as usual. Probably because he’s so used to the rejection that it honestly doesn’t faze him anymore.

“Boy, what a lovely holiday,” Liam chimes in, stuffing his mouth full with a bite of stuffing, “I’m so thankful to celebrate here with my dysfunctional school family rather than at home with my dysfunctional blood family.”

**H**

“For someone who only lives an hour away, you’d think we’d get to see you more often, H,” Gemma teases as they’re all gathered around the turkey table.

“The whole point of working so hard to get into an out of state college was to escape you all,” Harry quips right back, earning a chuckle from the family.

“Too bad Harvard or MIT wouldn’t have you,” one of his aunts makes the comment without even an attempt to keep it under her breath.  
  
“Yeah, too bad I was only able to attend a regular University instead of Ivy League,” Harry sucks his teeth for dramatic innocence as he asks, “Sorry, Aunt Amy, I seem to forget where you graduated from?”

As the notorious high school and then community college dropout of the family, she shuts up and starts scooting the food around her plate instead.

“You miss us,” Gemma accuses him with a grin to change the subject, “Could’ve stayed at school with all your new friends, but you chose to come visit instead.”

“Who was that guy you told me about? Louis?” Robin asks, “How’s his holiday going?”

“Oh, come on,” Harry groans, letting his fork fall with a clang against his plate, because there is absolutely no need to air his business out for the whole extended family like that.

He loves his step dad, he really does. Which is why the subject of his love life can even be brought up around the man in private, because Harry feels close enough to him that he respects the man’s opinion on such important things as romantic advice. But Robin does have a tendency to be completely tone deaf in social situations, so maybe that was Harry’s fault for assuming he’d know it wasn’t an appropriate topic to bring up at Thanksgiving dinner.

“Oooh, you like this guy?” It’s his Nan who waggles her brows and urges him to go on.

“He never said that,” his mom tries to salvage the situation, bless her, “We were talking about friends, so Robin asked him about a friend.” 

“I know a crush blush when I see one,” cousin Claire teases. 

“How ‘bout we talk about your little boyfriend instead?” He quips. 

“Cause my dad isn’t the one who brought him up at the dinner table,” she laughs at his misfortune.

“Sorry,” Robin mumbles, although Harry can’t bring himself to blame him anyway. He really just would like nothing more on earth than for the topic to move elsewhere. He’d even take a destructive argument about racism and oppression in America over this. He has half a mind to start singing Fuck Donald Trump just to get a rise out of his conservative uncle and ruin the whole evening if it keeps going this way.

“Now you know we don’t care who you choose to love, H,” aunt Lindsay says.

“It’s not a ch—and I’m not in lo—” he groans, “We’re barely even friends. Not that it’s anyone’s business anyway.”

“I certainly don’t want to hear about it,” the conservative uncle in question barks from the other side of the table.

“Door’s right there, Uncle Ron,” Gemma smiles politely, nodding towards the kitchen door for him to dismiss himself.

“So that’s at least two people who are uncomfortable with this discussion,” Harry says, “Let’s just move on, then, hm?”

“Now hang on, I want to hear about the boy,” Nan chimes in again.

“Boys can like boys?” His younger cousin Aiden asks, quirking his head to the side in genuine curiosity.

“If they want to, sweetheart,” Aunt Lindsay tells her son.

“And girls can like girls, too,” Aiden’s sister smiles proudly.

“I want to like a boy like Harry does,” Aiden pouts. He’s only six and he’s always been obsessed with everything Harry does. When he was three, he pitched a full on screaming tantrum at Christmas because he wanted a ‘bull nose’ and ‘rock n roll hair’ like Harry had. 

“Absolutely not!” It’s Uncle Ron’s turn to drop his fork now, voice grown huffy and stern.

“Ronald,” Aunt Lindsay says, matching the rigidity of his tone yet in a much classier, calmer way, “Now is not the time.”

“Sooner, the better,” Uncle Ron says, “He’s too young to be thinking about that stuff at all.”

“About what, Uncle Ron?” Harry chimes in, smiling now because the derailing chaos of the evening ended up happening all on its own, “What exactly are you worried your six year old son is thinking about?”

“You know exactly what,” he snaps, “All that fruity shit.”

“You mean sucking dick? Or perhaps taking it up the ass?” Harry prompts, relishing in the gasp that elicits from the adults of the table, “I mean, he could even be a top for all we know.”

“Harry!” His mom shouts, scandalized. Cousin Claire bursts out a laugh, and Gemma fights to hold back her smile. 

“What? He’s the one who implied that _all that fruity shit_ is indecent,” Harry shrugs. “As if the gay existence revolves entirely around sex and a kid couldn’t possibly be having age appropriate thoughts about another boy.”

“Sex,” his toddler cousin Jenny smiles, mouth dripping with slobber around her fat little fingers she’s busy gnawing on.

Nan laughs this time.

“Now, listen here, you little homo,” Uncle Ron starts to say something, but Aunt Lindsay smacks him on the bicep before he can take it too far.

“What’s taking it up the ash?” Aiden wonders.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Aunt Lindsay frets, “See what you guys have started?”

“It’s a video game for grown ups,” Gemma simply smiles at him.

“Nu-uh! It’s when the penis goes in the vagina, right mom?” Little cousin Melody asks, so proud of her completely wrong answer. He does wonder where she got that bit of information from, though.

Nan’s just laughing at the head of the table, his mom has her fingertips pressed to her forehead with a look of pure mortification, Robin is very decidedly keeping his mouth zipped shut as he continues to eat his food, Uncle Ron has started shouting some unintelligible nonsense about _liberal snowflakes_ and _fucking millennials,_ Aunt Lindsay busies herself by calmly explaining to the kids that they’ll learn more about these things when they’re older, and Gemma just gives Harry a distressed, brows-scrunched look of sympathy from across the table.

“Can I be excused now?” Harry asks, keeping his voice and sweet as sugar.

“Please,” his mom practically begs.

Mission accomplished.

**L**

The academic world always seems to fly by after Thanksgiving break, getting swept into a whirlwind of exam preparations, mostly. The QSA has agreed to pause all activity until next semester when they’ll be able to focus on spending the money they’ve budgeted to actually make the big event happen. 

Although Louis is using every spare moment to study on his own or with Niall, he and Harry do manage to keep their appointments, too.

They usually meet up around five pm, but on the Thursday before Finals Week begins, it’s not until five-forty-five and a single _Where are you?_ text later that the knock at his door finally comes.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, letting himself in as soon as Louis answers, “Got held up in my last lecture, but I’m here now and I have hot chocolate.”

He’s in his typical black jeans with the knees safety pinned together and a big black hoodie with some metal band’s logo across the chest. His bag has fallen halfway off his shoulder and he’s carrying a tray of drinks for himself and the two household residents. 

“That’s what you drink, right?” Harry says, snapping him out of his trance as he holds out the cup labeled _HC._ “I mean, besides tea of course. Your preferred winter refreshment?”

“Have I told you that before?” Louis quirks his head to one side, tentatively reaching for the offering. He notices Harry’s nails are freshly painted red for the holiday season.

“Sure, last week when your sister called,” Harry says. “She was raving about that Starbucks Caramel Brulee thing, and I said that I loved their seasonal drinks, and then you said it was all bullshit because nothing beats a good old fashioned hot chocolate anyway.”

Louis blinks. He does remember FaceTiming with Daisy while Harry was around, but he couldn’t tell you what he had for dinner last week, let alone some small personal detail that Harry had mentioned in a passing conversation once. Is Harry bringing him drinks just going to be a thing between them now? 

“Well, you have quite the memory then, don’t you?” Louis hums, wrapping both his hands around the paper cup to warm his palms. 

“Steel trap, pretty much,” Harry chuckles.

“What did you get Niall?” Louis only knows his order because they’ve been friends for so long it would be offensive not to.

“Cappuccino with a sprinkle of nutmeg,” Harry says.

Louis squints. “And you?”

“As if I don’t know my own favorite drink?” Harry laughs this time. Damn those dimples of his. Damn that smile of his. Damn that melodic chiming of his. It’s probably just the Christmas cheer that’s got Louis so flustered all of a sudden.

“Well, you can’t just pick all the holiday specialties as number one,” Louis says.

“That’s true,” Harry agrees. “My go-to is vanilla chai with a double shot of espresso, but I was feeling like a Peppermint Mocha Macchiato today.”

“Blech,” Louis sticks his tongue out in a false gag. “You’re so… ugh.”

It’s cute, and that’s what’s gross about it. If he knows one thing about Harry, it’s that he does love his Starbucks drinks. And that he’ll almost never do what’s expected. So, maybe two things then.

“I’m gonna quiz you on that later,” Harry laughs anyway.

“I will almost surely remember after this riveting conversation,” Louis rolls his eyes as he leads the way to the living room.

“Speaking of family, how excited are you to see them again?” Harry’s voice floats into the room along with him as he plops himself onto the couch, a little too close and friendly for comfort.

At least, Louis would’ve thought so only a month or so ago. Now, it’s the fact that it doesn’t feel out of place at all that’s inspiring the discomfort.

“How excited are you?” Louis deflects, because that’s what he does to avoid Harry taking things the wrong way. 

The thing is, they’ve actually got to study this time. They have been good about opening their books once the fucking has gotten out of their system, but Louis should be doing better. Since Finals are literally next week and he’s already committed to burning himself out through the weekend, he’ll also have to commit to resisting the urge to get his study buddy’s pants off for once.

“After how Thanksgiving went, I could probably do without,” Harry laughs at some inside joke between himself.

“How did Thanksgiving go?” Louis had forgotten to ask. Or maybe he just didn’t care at the time. And maybe now he still doesn’t, but any distraction from the way Harry’s tongue dances around his hole with a competitive accuracy will do. 

“I love my family,” Harry says, though it’s with an exasperation in his voice. “Most of them, anyway. They’re just a bit much, sometimes. Why does it feel like the longer I go without seeing them, the wilder they are when we do end up getting together?”

“Because that’s family,” Louis laughs. “The excitement takes over, I guess. Especially around the holidays.”

“Well then, maybe it’s my fault for not going to visit at least my parents and sister more often,” Harry resigns. “And for, uh, bringing up the mechanics of gay sex in front of kids at the dinner table? But, you know. Uncle Ron practically forced my hand with that one.”

“Harry,” Louis feels the laughter bubble up from within him, “You did not.”

“Listen, Uncle Ron is always a problem at the holidays,” Harry defends himself, “He’s an avid Trump supporter! That should tell you all you need to know about him!”

“Which is why you shut up and let him ruin it on his own!” 

“I was already the subject of conversation, and supremely uncomfortable,” Harry pouts. “It was a diversion tactic that worked fabulously in my favor.”

“Except for turning you into the spectacle of Thanksgiving dinner,” Louis rolls his eyes. Good old, shameless Harry.

“If there’s no spectacle though, is it really a family dinner?”

“My whole family IS the spectacle,” Louis chuckles to himself, recalling last holiday season when aunt Carol accidentally spiked all the eggnog instead of just one jug and everyone got hilariously drunk, including the underage Tomlinson sisters. But they all slept in the same house and no one ended up hurt besides a few splitting headaches the next day, so now it’s just another fun memory on the list of many Tomlinson Christmases. “I wish they were only a short drive away.”

“Colorado, right?” Harry nods an acknowledgment to the one time they’ve shared such a detail about their home life; seemingly so long ago at this point. 

“Okay steel trap, Massachusetts,” Louis says, just to prove he can remember things too.

Harry smiles warmly.

“And my drink order is…?” He trails off, waiting for Louis to fill in the blanks.

“Anything fruity and or sweet beyond all reason,” he rolls his eyes.

“Not alcohol, you drunkie,” Harry snorts.

Louis shrugs, “I’d argue that it applies anyway.”

“I’d argue that you’ve forgotten that quickly,” he quips back.

Louis squints, gladly accepting the challenge. “Vanilla chai, double shot of espresso.”

“What size?”

“You didn’t say.”

Harry grins, springing the dimples to life as he coos, “You do care.”

“I care about passing my exams,” Louis says, motioning to all the work he’s got spread out over the table because Harry was late so he’d gotten a head start.

“I also care about you passing your exams,” Harry agrees, pushing up his sleeves to reveal the other, cool colored rose sleeve tattooed underneath them, “So let’s get to it, then.”

“You should probably care about passing your own, too,” Louis reminds him.

“Not to toot my own horn, but I’m feeling pretty prepared this year, so I’m not too worried,” Harry beams. 

“Well, la di da,” Louis hums, mockingly. “Why waste your time sitting here with me, then?”

Harry pauses, staring over at him for a moment. He’s got that little pensive crease between his brows, and his bottom lip hangs open ever so slightly, like the question caught him off guard, but he’s trying to think of an appropriate answer anyway. There’s a very specific part of Louis that wouldn’t mind if inappropriate ends up being all he can muster. And a more vital, intelligent part of him hoping for anything but that.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he finally says, turning the imaginary spotlight back onto Louis instead.

Louis swallows. Shrugs it off.

“It obviously started as a proposition,” Louis keeps it short and to the point, sparing an extremely brief glance downwards at the thought of Harry’s dick.

“And what is it now?” Harry asks, looking expectantly at him. Wondering what they’re doing, because they usually aren’t the chatterbox type before they’re clawing at each other’s clothes.

“It could still be a sex thing, if you prefer,” Louis tears his eyes away to trace the length of his body, lazily lounging against the couch cushions.

“Always in the mood,” Harry says, too casually, “But you should know that I’m also happy to just be here.”

Louis holds his gaze for a silent moment longer before deciding to swallow his pride for just a moment, in the name of Christmas spirit or whatever.

“Well, maybe I don’t exactly mind having you here.”

**H**

“I’m so glad we all made it tonight,” Harry announces to the faces of all his friends around the bonfire at their pre-winter break gathering that weekend. “I’m so glad I met you guys.” 

It takes his eyes a few seconds to focus on each of them; Zayn, Liam, Niall, _Louis_ , Ella, Ephie, Marshal, Angel, and even Sarah. She doesn’t often show up to things outside of the QSA room, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed that she did accept the invitation to say goodbye before the end of the Fall semester.

“I’m so glad we met you, Harry,” Zayn says, landing a hand on his shoulder through his puffy black coat. 

“I’m so glad we met you, Zayn,” Liam says, mirroring the gesture. 

“Liam, I’m so glad we met you,” Niall grins. 

“You’re all fucking fools,” Louis groans. Harry can practically hear the eye roll in his voice. 

“That’s Louis for _I’m so glad I met you all, too_ ,” Ella translates, pulling a laugh out from the group. 

“And to think, Harry,” Ephie says, pausing to tilt the bottle of red wine she’s been nursing to her lips, “Imagine if I hadn’t been so persistent to talk you into coming that first day.” 

“It didn’t take that much convincing,” Harry says, “Louis’s ass did most of the work.” 

Another chuckle from the group. 

“It is absolutely mind blowing to remember that you guys used to hate each other so thoroughly,” Ella grins, nudging Louis in the side for that one. 

Harry never hated him. He wasn’t sure what to make of him, at first. A little put off by his passive methods of protest and the aggressive resistance to Harry’s general existence. But he always liked Louis, despite those minor hang ups. 

It is amusing to see how he’s managed to worm his way under Louis’s skin, though. 

“It is,” Harry grins, “Absolutely mind blowing.” 

He’s not talking about their growing bond anymore, and Louis knows him well enough to catch on. 

“Why do I continue to drink with you guys, knowing how sappy you all get after a few?” Louis scoffs. 

“Because you love us, obviously,” Marshal giggles like a schoolgirl, as he tends to in his alcoholic bliss.

Harry doesn’t expect Louis to glance his way when the word _love_ falls from between Marshal’s lips, and maybe it’s the bottle of Grigio he’s already killed by himself that makes the edges of his world start to blur, but even though it only lasts a quick second, it certainly doesn’t feel like he imagined it. 

Maybe it’s only a friendship kind of love. Maybe that’s all it’ll ever be. Maybe Harry can learn to be okay with that. It’s not like he’s endlessly tortured by the lack of romance between them. Would he jump at the chance for Louis to see him in that light? Abso-fucking-lutely. But he likes whatever they have now, too. It’s not as bad as Ephie made it seem. 

Maybe someday Harry will meet the one who makes him forget all about this little arrangement between him and Louis, but until then, it feels warm right where he is. 

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” Niall gripes. He’s from California, so it probably feels like an ice bath to him right now, never mind the flames crackling between them. 

“You’d never survive winter where I’m from,” Louis chuckles. He’s appropriately bundled up in his navy blue bubble jacket, fleece sweats, insulated high tops, and a beanie with a little floof on top that’s just too cute for words. 

Niall is prepared too, but it’ll never be the same for someone with warm bones to adjust to the east coast cold.

“Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?” Liam teases. 

“Maybe. But I’m not,” Niall pouts. 

“It is getting late,” Zayn says, “And Liam and I have an early flight tomorrow, so we were gonna call it a night soon anyway.” 

“I’m on the same flight,” Louis reminds him. “Or have you completely tossed me aside for your new beau, then?”

“He’s meeting the family, Lou,” Zayn argues, “That’s huge.” 

“Lifelong friendship is huge, Z,” Louis pouts anyway. 

“Who’s going to tell my family I froze to death before I could make it home, hm?” Niall snaps now. He was pleasantly drunk like the rest of them a few minutes earlier, but the chill may be killing his buzz fast. 

“Alright, alright,” Ephie says, “Let’s all give our favorite five-some a big group hug to sustain them through the winter.” 

“Winter will still be here after break,” Louis says, but it’s drowned out by the strength of the group pushing together in a big tight circle. 

This time, it’s not one of those _oops we’re drunk and just happened to get each other’s pants off again_ things, even though they are both very much drunk. This time, it’s a calculated _can I stay the night?_ locking of the eyes that blooms as the two of them scoot in next to each other in the backseat of the Uber.

This time, Louis smiles and leans his head on Harry’s shoulder, while the couple in the front seat bicker on about what time they should leave in the morning or whatever. 

This time, they say goodnight to their friends and don’t waste a single second in getting Louis pressed against a wall while Harry thrusts inside of him with a hunger that only seems to strengthen in every swivel.

He can’t say it, because Louis isn’t on the same page, but Harry can feel his own longing leaking, pouring, swirling, out into the room around them. He’s pushing himself inside as if with enough force, he’d be able to mold himself into the shape of Louis in a more solid, permanent way that will allow him to forget the weeks they’ll have to spend two thousand miles apart. Like if he wills it hard enough, he can turn that distance into two millimeters instead. 

How silly of him to think he could fool himself into settling for Louis’s crumbs of affection. How naïve to think his craving could ever be satisfied in this lifetime or the next.

It’s pathetic. Desperate. And somehow that makes him come harder than ever before. Granted, he seems to feel that way every time he empties himself in Louis, but maybe that’s because it’s true every time. 

Maybe he just has a pain kink he’s yet to discover until now. An emotional pain kink.

And maybe he never really grew out of his dramatic emo kid phase after all. 

“You good?” Louis’s labored inquiry snaps him out of his thoughts a few minutes after they’ve wrapped things up, in that calm space where they lay together and he gets to pretend this matters beyond what Louis will let it.

And like when someone asks if everything’s alright while you’re busy trying to bottle up all your troubles inside, Harry all of a sudden wants to fucking cry. Not for anything Louis did, just at the simple ache in his chest that he’ll have to go without this for a while. He shouldn’t have let himself get so attached. 

“Great. Better than,” Harry hears his own voice sound completely unaffected. He’s become sort of a master at downplaying the depth of his emotions around Louis. Maybe around his own self, even. 

“Good,” Louis pats a hand on his chest like a car salesman showing off the latest model. “Let me know when you’re ready to go again.” 

Harry feels the laughter bubble up from his chest before it actually releases into the clouds between them. 

It’s fine. He’s fine. 

“Baby needs his fix before break?” He teases. 

“Ooh,” Louis hums, shutting his eyes up at the ceiling. “Call me baby again.” 

“Anything for you, baby,” he purrs. 

The whole world is just fine.

**L**

It’s the most annoying fucking thing Louis has ever had to admit even to himself in the privacy of his own head, but he misses Harry. 

On his birthday, surrounded by hometown friends and the overwhelming love of the family who’s missed him, some part of him misses Harry loudly enough that it paints the evening’s events with a twinge of emptiness. All that Birthday cheer mixed with Christmas cheer, the big house full of warm smiles of smiles from his family and friends he’s known since childhood, each little laugh tainted because he can’t stop picturing the empty bed he’ll have to retreat to afterwards.

Sure, he’s been sleeping alone since break started, and even longer than that. But he’s shared a bed for at least part of the night with a certain someone quite a bit lately, and he could really use a cuddle or a little something else to wrap up in later on. Hell, the closer midnight creeps up, he starts to think even a knowing glance across the room from someone other than Zayn or Liam will do.

It’s so stupid, and so _annoying_.

He usually doesn’t bother worrying about his phone while he’s home, let alone enough to check social media, but it’s the only connection he has to fill that annoying distance between them, so he pulls it out during a bathroom break to see what Harry has posted on his Instagram story. The very thing he’s constantly berating his horde of technology obsessed sisters for doing at five minute intervals throughout the day. 

Harry’s posted a single photo and a single boomerang. The photo is of some classy holiday drinks in an array of red, green, and white, arranged in a circle of six and with a location tag for some bar in the bustling city of Boston. The bouncing image is of some blonde girl taken from behind, shaking her head back and forth to make her hair dance in time with the pompom of her red Santa hat.

Probably just his sister or an old friend or something, but it still makes Louis’s gut twist.

Which is stupid, because Harry’s made it perfectly clear that he’s barely interested in women if at all, so Louis has no reason to suspect that she could be anything romantic.

And it shouldn’t even matter to him either way.

Louis simply closes the app, tucking the persistent buzz of Harry centered thoughts into the deepest dungeons of his mind, flushes and washes his hands, then goes back to join the laughter coming from the family room again.

He deserves to enjoy his own birthday, so he does his best to be in the moment or whatever. 

It’s not till much later that night, when he’s almost drifted off to sleep that his phone buzzes on his pillow with a photo.

Harry’s also lying down in bed, and it looks like he’s lifted the blanket to showcase his hard dick straining against his briefs, with a shiny little Christmas bow stuck to one side.

Christ. Louis knew it was big, but having a still image to study to his heart’s content is something else entirely. He wasn’t thinking about being stuffed to his breaking point before that moment, but he sure fucking is now.

**Thinking of you. HBD. H. xx**

He takes a moment to absorb, calculating a response that doesn’t let on to just how perfect that present is.

 _I have your number, idiot. You don’t have to sign off._

**Love when you talk dirty to me.**

Louis snorts. He doesn’t intend to say anything more at first, but the picture is just there, and it’s so nice, and Harry’s obviously had enough to justify some incredible boldness on his part, considering they’ve sent maybe a total of ten texts back and forth all year and one of those was now a partial dick pick. So maybe Louis is feeling the holiday spirit enough to play along.

 _How do I unwrap it?_

It takes a few more minutes, but the briefs are gone in the next picture Harry sends and his hand is curled around the base now. Louis swallows.

 **Did you get me anything?** Harry prompts, complete with the curious eyes emoji.

**For the holiday, not your birthday, of course.**

_Are you implying that my birthday isn’t a holiday?_

**I don’t get presents on that one, though.**

Louis hasn’t sent a nude in ages. He can’t remember how long it’s been since he even took one. And he’s not of inadequate size, but when staring directly at Harry in all his glory it’s a bit intimidating. He’s beautiful. Louis has never wanted to suck a dick more in his life.

He knows that Harry took a leap by even sending the first one to begin with, imagines how he’d feel if Louis just left him on read after that, and the idea of doing that is not pleasant in the slightest. So he sucks it up and tucks his hand in his pants to pull his lazy length out. He certainly can’t send that, right? So he has to do something to make it more presentable. 

Missing Harry helps. Specifically, missing the stretch of Harry inside him helps. Missing his clever tongue and his precise fingers. The warmth of his skin, his pert little nipple rings, the smooth pulse of his hips, his heavy panting, the pressure of his palm against Louis’s back, the pull of his hands in Louis’s hair, the drawl of his voice as he talks Louis over the edge. The wavering in his tone in time with the warm gush as he finishes. 

His body responds quickly to the tug of his own fist around it, and when he’s reached full mass, he guides his length to lie flat against his stomach, held down in place by the elastic of his waistband.

He tries to focus on aesthetics as he ignores his pulsing heart as he snaps the photo, presses send, and tucks his phone underneath his pillow all in one quick motion.

Then he just stares up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths to settle his racing heart. Harry would probably lose his shit over a grainy image of Louis from a mile away, let alone a full high res one of his most intimate body part. But the simple fact that the last person Louis took a picture like that for was someone he had a serious relationship with is probably something to consider significant somehow. 

But he and Harry have just reached a point of being comfortable with each other. It’s not like they haven’t already seen every inch up close and personal. So what’s one measly little dick pic going to change, right?

He still resists the urge to check his phone again until the morning.

 ** _Louis_** at 1:32 am

 ** _My God_ **at 1:32 am

 ** _You’re a work of art_ **at 1:32 am

 ** _You’ve made my entire break, thank you_ **at 1:36 am

 ** _Miss you. And your cock too_** at 1:43 am

 ** _H. xx_ **at 1:44 am

 _Merry Christmas,_ Louis types back at 7:06 am, just before heading downstairs to open presents with the youngins.

**H**

The very first Monday after winter break, when Harry’s last class has wrapped for the day, in the name of resisting the urge to go knock on a certain someone’s door, he runs a bubble bath instead.

It’s quite convenient to have an entire apartment to himself. His roommate seems like a cool guy on the few occasions that he’s made his presence known, but Harry also does love the fact that it’s more of a surprise when he is home than when he isn’t. Because that means he’s free to talk around naked all the time. Or in his favorite purple robe and fuzzy slippers. 

And if he wants to shut off all the lights and live by a million candles and heat up his leftover salmon in the microwave and eat it in the tub, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

And the person who’s decided to knock on his door at this relaxed hour, apparently. 

He sighs as he twists the knob to turn the water off and secure the ties around his waist to go see who it could be. There’s a little tiny part of his brain hoping that it might be Louis, but never in a million years did he think he’d have that wish granted. 

He peeps through the look hole and sucks a breath into his lungs. He might have broken his wrist on the door handle if he scrambled to unlock and swing it open any faster. 

“Hey,” he beams. 

Louis is in a thick cream colored sweater, some brown pants, and his black high tops with cozy grey socks pulled up above his ankles. His hair looks like it was swooshed across his forehead with love from the heavens, and his eyes the brightest blue speckles among the cloudy winter evening. 

“You look cozy,” Louis comments, looking him up and down. Harry wiggles his bare toes against the carpet beneath them.

“In my own home? Fancy that,” Harry teases. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this brisk Monday evening?” 

“I brought you something,” he says, holding out the rolled poster Harry hadn’t even noticed he was clutching before. “Can I come in?”

“What is it?” Harry wonders out loud as he steps back to make room for Louis’s entry. 

Louis simply unrolls the thing to reveal a bright image of flames and snowflakes all mixed together in a fantastic display to provide the background for the bold lettering announcing their queer prom, dated March 6th. 

“This is sick,” Harry admires, grabbing it for a closer look. 

“Hell yeah it is,” Louis beams, “Zayn and Liam apparently went to work over break. It was a collaborative effort.” 

“So it’s like, really official?” Harry realizes. It’s always been an official event, but if you’d asked at the start of the year whether he’d be excited for the prom event he helped plan and bring to life, he wouldn’t have believed it.

“It’s all coming together,” Louis confirms. “I figured since you and Niall will be tasked with spreading the news, you’d appreciate a first look.”

“So when do tickets go on sale?”

“Two weeks from today,” Louis says. 

“To weeks?” Harry notices, “But you felt it vital to bring this poster to me right now, because…”

“Because I already showed Niall,” Louis shrugs. 

“Mhm,” Harry’s heart speeds up just slightly. “But it simply couldn’t wait for a meeting. Either this week, or next? Or any day in between?” 

“I mean, jeez. If you don’t like it, just be honest,” Louis snatches the thing back, quickly rolling it back into a pole again. 

“I love the design, Lou. I’m not the one who has an honesty problem here,” he says, nudging with his voice. 

“And you’re insinuating that I do?” Louis inflects. 

“Exactly that,” Harry says, “You wanted an excuse to come over.”

“As if,” he scoffs. 

“You missed me,” Harry grins now, teasing as the realization sinks in for him, too. 

And Louis hesitates this time, for the first time ever, probably in preparation for the next words out of his mouth to be, “So what if I did?” instead of his usual denial.

Harry feels his brows rise, eyes widen in shock as he stalls in his tracks. He blinks a few times, having expected anything but that. What has three weeks apart done to the Louis who usually only rolls his eyes when Harry messes with him? 

“I mean,” Louis shrugs it off, clearly stuttering in his own vulnerability, “We’re kind of friends now, right? And I miss all my friends when we’re back at home.”

“So I’m to assume you’ve already paid each of them a visit?” He asks, swallowing the lump in his throat because it’s not the words he wants to hear, but he’ll take it anyway.

Again, brief hesitation, but at least Louis’s gaze doesn’t waver when he says, “Not exactly.”

“Well, that must make me some kind of special friend, then,” Harry says.

“Alright, don’t bust before I can even get into your robe,” there goes the eye roll Harry’s become accustomed to, accompanied by just a dash of reciprocated banter, and that’s just the best fucking greeting he can think of.

Harry definitely missed him too. 

“This old thing?” Harry grins, then tugs and the end of one of the strings to undo the tie, shamelessly letting it swing open to reveal himself. 

He expected to earn a laugh, but the look Louis gives him surpasses even that. He smiles, just a teeny bit on one corner of his mouth, then his tongue flicks out over his bottom lip and he steps forward to close the space between them. 

It’s so intimate; so delicate and sweet, the way Louis reaches to dance his fingertips down from Harry’s bare chest to outline his abs and flutter across where the hem of his pants would be. He doesn’t mean for his dick to twitch, but of course, being so close to the area, Louis notices. And that’s when the laugh finally rises up out of him. 

“Do you… um,” Harry hesitates, because before this moment he was absolutely sure that all his pining was in vain. But now Louis came to see him because he missed him, he’s all of sudden become this soft, sweet creature, and Harry has a warm bath already mostly prepared just a few feet away and he wants to get Louis naked so he can touch him, too. 

“I was about to take a bath. If you’re into that,” he finishes the thought, still trying to keep it casual as possible, as if he’s not on the verge of spontaneously combusting where he stands. 

Louis pulls back just a bit. 

“Kinda sensual, don’t you think?” He blinks. 

_Kinda the whole point!_ Harry screams in his head. 

“Or I can wait,” he backs down, head reeling from the uncertainty of which signal to follow, “And just take you to bed instead.” 

Because that means less, to Louis anyway. That’s just sex, to Louis anyway.

“That’s more like it.”

“Just promise me you’re not sending all your friends pictures like the one I received,” Harry teases, because that’s easy. It’s harmless, to Louis anyway.

“They should be so lucky,” Louis sasses, making Harry grin the twist in his stomach away. At least if Louis can’t admit it, this is reserved for him.

**L**

“I think this is it for me,” Harry says as they’re laying together in the wake of their rendezvous, “Like, I think I’m done with this… between us.”

“What? Why?”

“I know it’s pretty late, but I wanted to give you time to pick someone else before I asked,” Harry hesitated for a brief moment before deciding to quickly blurt it out, “Do you wanna go to prom with me?”

Louis is so completely caught off guard that he actually looks towards the door like there’s any practical way for him to just hop up and make a run for it.

“You might have more fun with somebody else,” he tries to let Harry down easy instead.

“I don’t want to go with anybody else. I want to go with you,” Harry says, gaze strongly focused and yet with something careful and innocent dancing behind them. He means it in ways he won’t dare voice, but there they are anyways, staring at Louis like a baby dear watching it’s mother’s life slip away before its eyes.

Louis purses his lips together. A whole night out in public with Harry on his arm? Not just one dance but many, punctuated by even more conversation, without even any sex to break it up. Just pure romance.

“It’s okay, I already knew you’d say no,” Harry relieves him of forming the words himself, “But that’s exactly why I think it’s better if we don’t do this anymore.”

“I thought you said you were fine with it,” Louis reminds him. “You said you didn’t care that I don’t like you that way.”

“I was, I think,” Harry says. “At the time, I definitely meant it. And it’s been… exquisite. I certainly don’t regret anything.”

“So what’s changed?” Louis wonders.

“I want to be loved, Louis,” Harry sighs, voice going quieter with the admission. “And it seems silly to realize this so far into it, but it’s finally become clear to me that I’m not going to find that here.”

The thing is, at that particular moment in time, Louis’s brain supplies this annoying little thought that sounds a bit like, _maybe you will, though_.

But that’s just spur of the moment nonsense, so instead he says, “So what, you’ve already found someone else to go fall in love with? Why can’t we just keep doing this until that happens?”

“We can still be friends, of course, I’d love that,” he smiles, so warm and genuinely devastating, “It’s just that dating becomes rather complicated when you’re raw dogging someone else, so I’d like to avoid that ahead of time.”

Despite the crude delivery, Harry is so good at communicating exactly what he wants, where his head is at, what he needs. Louis fucking hates it. He can’t do anything but respect his wishes and his boundaries and that’s all well and good because people should absolutely be allowed to dictate those things for themselves.

But it still means that Louis won’t get to have him like this anymore. And he really wishes he knew it would be the last time before it was already over.

“Well, I’ll get my things, then,” Louis snaps as he sits up and nods towards the door.

“Are you alright?” Harry notices the abrupt shift in mood. That stupid mullet and that stupid septum and the stupid tattoos and his stupid fucking face all just suddenly became so stupid again.

“You could’ve told me that earlier, you know,” Louis antagonizes him to say something, anything else before he goes, knowing it’ll never be the right words that come out of his mouth anyway. He just needs more. This can’t be the last of this closeness between them.

“I wasn’t sure until just now,” Harry says.

“Any kind of warning would’ve been nice,” Louis pouts. “A 'hey, maybe we should cool down a little,’ or something.”

“I didn’t realize it would be so upsetting for you,” Harry says.

“I am not upset,” he lies through his teeth, “If anything, I’m feeling a little used, but I’ll get over it, I guess. You haven’t left me much choice.”

“If I used you at all, it was well deserved considering you’ve only ever liked me for one thing,” Harry says.

“You know that’s not true,” Louis says through gritted teeth. He thought Harry had finally come to terms with their friendship, but apparently that was misguided too.

“Do I?” Harry challenged. Of course he knew it, but he was dangling the line out for Louis to snag and he was not going to take that bait.

Sure, things had been rocky between them at first, but all the times Louis had stuck up for him since then? Or expressed genuine concern for his well being? Of course Harry had to know it was more than just sex. Maybe not what he wanted it to be, but even friends shouldn’t be allowed to blindside each other this way. It’s cruel. It’s unfair.

“Bye, Harry,” Louis dismisses any further discussion, so far from ready to confront the error of his own ways just yet. Fuck Harry for all his wisdom anyway.

“Bye, I guess,” Harry bristles as he shuts the door behind him.

*

He wants to be loved.

For at least a solid week after that, Louis’s head won’t stop reminding him, ringing Harry’s words in the back of his head.

 _I want to be loved,_ as Harry smiles at him when he walks into the QSA meeting on Wednesday. 

_I want to be loved,_ as Harry comes over to cook dinner after him and Niall’s gym session on Thursday, because that’s suddenly become his only free weekday again.

 _I want to be loved, Louis,_ as they bump into each other in the kitchen at some sorority party that weekend and simply give a polite nod that feels so torturously awkward before going their separate ways.

Why does that shock him so deeply? Of course Harry wants to be loved. Everybody wants to be loved. And Harry deserves to be loved.

But Louis hasn’t been loved in that sense of the word since… maybe ever. He’s loved that way, sure, but he suspects that none of his exes felt the same about him. Maybe they wanted to believe they did at the time, but he doesn’t think real, true love ever goes away. And they all went away.

Familial and platonic love is easier. He’s always felt close to his family, always had a solid group of friends to fill his life. He’s never felt like there could be something missing until the very moment that Harry decided to cut him off from sex. That’s all it was, really. 

So if that’s all it was, then why did hearing the words _I don’t think I can do this anymore_ feel like losing a fucking limb? Why did it spark this ugly desperation within him, like he had to reach out and grab something, anything to hold close and keep him from falling apart in the absence of that quiet comfort they’d managed to cultivate between them, despite his best efforts?

He logically knew it would have to stop someday; he just didn’t consider that day could be so close. He imagined it would be some arbitrary future time where they’d just look back and realize they hadn’t seen each other in a while. A mutual fade out.

Maybe that was his way of secretly hoping it wouldn’t have to end at all.

Maybe Louis wants to be loved, too.

**H**

Things feel different this semester, but they’re not really. Weeks pass and Harry begins to settle into his new classes, admitting only to himself that he wishes he could’ve kept sharing one period a week with Louis.

But Louis is avoiding him now, if only able to cut back the amount of one on one time they share together. Harry’s found a nice little niche with the QSA crew though, so at least they’ll always have meetings.

And protests. 

Like when the wretchedly infamous Gun Girl decides to show her face on campus one afternoon and the whole school suddenly turns into a horde of shouting radical leftists. 

The videos start popping up on social media around ten am, then the _did you see who’s here today?_ texts start buzzing his phone, and by the time his lunch period comes at twelve thirty, she’s being barricaded in the courtyard by the engineering building along with her ever so helpful security detail. 

From what Harry was able to gather, she came to build her own little gang of people who disagree with the school’s decision to finally move forward with the installation of the gender neutral bathrooms on campus over break. 

People are shouting in her face, or as close to her as they can get anyway, and of course she’s trying to keep her cool in provoking them back, but the panic is clearly brewing underneath. And Harry’s knack for swerving his way to the front of these ordeals leaves no room for delusion when it’s Louis’s face that he spots as one of her instigators.

“Didn’t you shit your pants at a party before?” His voice remains loud and firm without getting shouty, and Harry is instantly turned on by the way he stands his ground amidst the conflict roaring around him. By his icy glare and sharp cheekbones and his rigid posture and the memory of what it all looks like writing bare beneath Harry’s own body.

“Not relevant,” she says.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure that you getting so blackout drunk you shit your pants in public is relevant to any situation where you decide to judge other people’s life choices,” Louis snaps. 

“You know I carry, right?” She whines. Ugh. Every shrill little syllable grates across Harry’s nerves.

“Is that a threat?” Louis challenges, “As if you’d shoot me for exercising my American right to free speech; the very same thing you’ve dedicated your life to preaching towards anyone who’ll give you the fifteen minutes you so desperately crave? Brilliant! Fucking flawless logic!”

God. Harry’s not proud of himself for the amount of effort it takes to keep himself from hardening in broad daylight like this, but the image of Louis punching her in the jaw just conjures up all by itself. It’s been a while since Harry’s seen him this riled up. All he can seem to manage these days is pure annoyance, but that doesn’t have near the same effect as rage.

“My second amendment rights allow me to if I feel threatened,” she says.

“The only person you should feel threatened by is yourself,” Louis fires right back, as always, just waiting to desecrate anyone who dares cross him in this mood. “Must be exhausting to not only have to worry about the shit coming out of your ass, but your mouth, too.”

“I can have you arrested,” she threatens. 

“For what?” Louis scoffs, “I’d have to actually act on this burning desire to knock your teeth out you in order for you to have the grounds for that.”

“Alrighty, Lou,” Liam steps in with a gentle hand on each shoulder to guide him away, but Louis shrugs it off.

“No, fuck her,” he spits, “And all her little lackeys, and anyone who agrees with her barbaric practice of storming onto college campuses where people are, God forbid, allowed to live freely and mind their own fucking business! Can’t have that now, can we? Some peace and fucking joy in the world? Not without little miss shit for brains coming around to incite anger, then play the fucking victim when someone has the balls to say they want to kick the shit out of her.”

Some people around them begin to cheer and the chatter raises in encouragement. Suddenly the coherent par of Harry’s brain kicks into worry mode; the part that’s not so gay its only focus is on the visible vein in Louis’s neck and the flex of his arms through his sweater. 

“Is that a threat?” She throws his words back at him.

“Is that a threat?” He mimics her stupid, whiny, voice, “Was I not clear enough for you?”

He’s pretty sure no one sees it coming when he lunges towards her. It all happens so fast, but from where Harry’s standing he can see her bodyguard intercept the action, pinning Louis to the ground with his arms held behind his back. It’s not gentle, the brick path is not forgiving, and the scrambling screams of the student uproar elevates the scene into complete chaos. 

Louis’s bravery or borderline psychosis or whatever ended up giving the other enraged students permission to follow suit, so Gun Girl is shrieking as they all begin to surround the tightening blockade that her little followers struggle to create, and it's Harry and Liam along with a few other students who have to band together in order to free Louis from the fucking body-building wrestler type holding him down.

He probably should be arrested. But once they drag him out of there with the help of the student body actively blocking her guard from chasing them, it seems less likely they’ll be able to figure out exactly who to prosecute. He can bet that Gun Girl wasn’t even invited onto campus to begin with, so maybe she won’t have a case at all. Maybe Louis could for all the blood streaming down his face, though.

**L**

Liam’s upset that Louis didn’t listen to his warnings to get out of the situation before it escalated, so he dumped him on Harry who came out of fucking nowhere at that unruly excuse of a protest and went back to class.

Louis isn’t hurt that badly; just a little bit of bruising on his knees and shins. And a gnarly scrape on his cheek from the friction against the brick walkway. But, you know, all in all, a pretty successful afternoon if you ask him. It was beyond satisfying to unleash some of the frustration he’s been carrying around for the past few weeks, but the high has somewhat worn off in the wake of the incident and the unfortunate punishment of being left alone with Harry for the first time since… their last time.

“I’m literally fine, you asshole. Let me go back to class,” he tries again to get off the couch, to no avail. 

“Sit back down,” Harry calls from the kitchen, like he’s got a sixth sense or something. “Remember that time you simply had to make sure I was okay after being run over at the BLM march? You’re not going anywhere.”

“You had a concussion!” Louis objects. 

“A very mild one, if that,” Harry says. 

“I don’t have one at all, though,” Louis argues. Although, he did feel that landing on the pavement pretty hard. He’s not experiencing any dizzies or delirium besides Harry once again being way too comfortable in an apartment that’s not his own, so it’s probably all cosmetic. 

“Missing one afternoon of class as a precaution isn’t likely to kill you.”

“And what if does? You’ll be at fault and have to live with my ghost haunting you for the rest of eternity.” 

“It would be my pleasure,” Harry says. Louis can hear the smile in his stupid, pretty voice.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He huffs and falls back to the sofa, settling in with a blanket over his lap. Social media is going wild with hashtags and sharing and Louis’s phone has been blowing up in just the ten minutes it took to get back to his apartment. It’s beyond embarrassing to watch himself lose it so completely, and even more so to absorb the image of being brutally immobilized by a bulking security guard on camera and in front of everyone.

And she’s a woman. Louis is a feminist, for equal rights and all that. And she definitely deserved it. But the idea that he might have actually laid his hands on her with the intent to harm had the guard not been there is terrifying.

What was he thinking? He’s sworn up and down for the past few years that he’d changed. He’d never been involved in something like this before, but he did used to support it. Sticking it to the man by whatever means necessary, or whatever. Every kid goes through a rebellious phase, right? But they grow out of it, like Louis did. They realize that you can’t just go around lunging for people’s throats when they enrage you. 

It felt so good, though. There wasn’t a single bone in his body that didn’t believe she deserved a big heaping plate of the meal she ordered. He just never expected himself to be the one who attempted to serve it. 

Harry interrupts his train of thought with a warm compress and cup of tea, so reminiscent of the last time they found themselves together like this. 

Except, when Louis actually sniffs the aroma, it isn’t tea.

“This is coffee, you little shit,” he says. 

“Chamomile coffee,” Harry snorts a laugh as he reaches out to press the cloth against Louis’s cheek. It’s a bit awkward, being so close in each other’s personal space after barely even speaking for the past few weeks. But the cloth is soft and warm and actually does soothe the stinging wound, so Louis plays it cool. As if he’s not staring at the plush of Harry’s lips and wishing he could press them together again. As if he’s forgotten all about the hundreds of times he already has.

“You’re hilarious,” he rolls his eyes as he blows at the steam to cool it down anyway.

“You know I don’t know the first thing about making tea.”

“First thing: boil the water.”

“The first thing for you is to just take the free drink so we can move on to the part where I ask what the hell you were thinking,” Harry says, removing the cloth to start dabbing at the area instead. His eyes are right there, inches away, just as bright and honest as they’ve always been.

“Given your history, I don’t know that you’re qualified to handle such a question,” Louis quips. 

“Louis,” Harry gives him the knowing look of a mother. Or a concerned friend. “That wasn’t you.”

Still, he doesn’t fully crumble.

“Thought you agreed that a little violence is good when tensions run high at a protest.”

“Oh, I loved it,” Harry chuckles lightly, “Most attracted to you I’ve ever been, hands down.”

“First of all, that’s saying a lot considering all the compromising positions you’ve seen me in,” Louis clears his throat, taking another sip as Harry works on his wound.

“Those were natural,” he removes the cloth and grabs the little tube of ointment from where Louis hadn’t even noticed he placed it on the table, “You inciting violence at a protest-remniscent event is not.”

“Well, secondly,” Louis holds his breath as Harry uses his two fingers to spread the cold healing gel over the open area, “Maybe I’ve been busy re-evaluating some of my stances on certain things.”

He means things like love and marriage and puppies and babies and the way Harry looks at him like they’ve known each other in a thousand different lives, yet he’s still hungry for a thousand more. It’s only as of a couple hours ago that he’s begun to reconsider the protest related stances, but Harry doesn’t exactly need all the details.

“Come on, Lou,” Harry says, drifting his gaze back to Louis’s attention instead of the mess on his cheek. “No you haven’t. You’re just frustrated because I dumped you.”

“What? That’s fucking absurd,” he sputters, “And bold of you to think you’ve got that much power.”

“I know you’ll never acknowledge it out loud, but save for the past couple weeks, we have gotten pretty friendly,” apparently it’s Harry’s turn to be the calm and collected one about such matters, “So I can tell when you’re actually fine and when you’re being a brat.”

“You don’t know my life, Harry.”

“If you’ve got a more logical explanation as to why you’ve decided to become an anarchist overnight, I’m all ears.”

Louis huffs and pouts for a few more seconds. He has been feeling frustrated with himself, enough to lash out in ways beyond just his words. Maybe that’s got at least something to do with it. He hasn’t admitted it out loud yet, but maybe Harry is really the only person who needs to hear it anyway. 

“Maybe it’s more of, like,” he sighs, “The fact that I’ve been an ass to you.”

“Now that’s not fair, you know I’ve always seen you as more than just a good piece of ass,” Harry quips, earning himself a playful smack on the shoulder.

“You know what I meant, but if I must say it,” Louis saya, “I meant when you, um… set your boundaries with me. When you said you were done.”

“When I dumped you, yeah,” Harry nods.

“You did not dump me,” Louis maintains.

“I so dumped you,” Harry says, but he’s grinning, teasing, trying to lighten the mood in the name of cushioning Louis’s feelings.

For the first time ever, Louis begins to feel like he doesn’t deserve Harry instead of the other way around. At his core, Harry is so kind and loving and open and understanding. Louis has been nothing but rude and selfish and downright hurtful to him since day one, and for some reason he’s still right here. Literally tending to Louis’s wounds when he’s probably got a few of his own that need to be taken care of, too.

“Fine, you dumped me. I’ll let you have that,” Louis decides, “But beside the point, I shouldn’t have acted like an ass when you were just trying to be honest with me about your intentions. So, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right, and I accept your apology,” Harry says.

“Just like that?” Louis asks, earning a shrug that only inspires more questions. “How are you not mad at me? For all that time I led you on…”

Harry holds his gaze for a pensive moment before answering.

“Well, I don’t feel like I was led on. You showed me upfront what this was going to be, so anything else I imagined… or hoped for, was my own fault,” he says. 

“So I _literally_ fuck you over for months, and you end up mad at yourself?”

“There’s no anger,” Harry chuckles, light and airy. “I made my conscious decisions because I like being around you, in bed and otherwise. So I guess that’s enough for me.”

Louis blanches. It’s all so very romantic. Harry’s clearly made his peace with what had the potential to be so much more toxic than it felt. And in contrast, Louis is getting in fights to release all his bottled frustrations that he doesn’t even have the words for. How did the tables end up so dramatically turned without him even noticing until it was far too late?

“So,” Louis hesitates, searching for sincerity behind glassy green. “You actually meant it when you said you still want to be friends?”

“Of course. Absolutely,” he beams.

“Alright then. Friends,” Louis agrees, and they shake on it, but it still feels hollow somehow. Like something’s missing.

“I think that _was_ me out there, though,” he says, working through his own thoughts. “When I lunged at her, I actually felt more like myself than I have since…” A memory of lying his head on Harry’s chest as his own exploded with laughter flashes through his mind, dissolving into a blank whisper the very next instant. “It’s been a while,” he finishes simply.

“Really?” Harry’s brows raise, “What happened to fearing for your education status?” 

“When you put it like that, it sounds so shallow,” Louis scrunches his nose in disgust.

Harry purses his lips in deafening silence. 

“Fuck,” Louis sighs, having a goddamn internal crisis all of a sudden. 

“It’s not entirely shallow,” Harry says, “You have good intentions, that much is clear. And it’s not selfish to care about your own life while still fighting for others. It’s a fine line to walk. Not everybody is willing to catch a case for what they believe in, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be passionate about it.”

“But you’re judging me,” Louis finishes what he won’t say. 

“You know that’s not my style,” Harry says. “I just have my own way of doing things. And in my opinion, even I could be doing more.”

“We are attempting to do more, though,” Louis reminds him. “With our aspiring career paths and all. It’s just taking a while to get there.”

“And it’ll take even longer to start making a difference,” Harry says. 

“The protests are working, though,” Louis argues. “The violent and the peaceful. It’s small, but new laws are being passed every day. People are being forced to pay attention. Forced to do something about it all.” 

“Laws are baby steps,” Harry argues. “Everyone has to actually be held accountable in order for it to matter.”

“You’re not wrong,” Louis agrees, sighing. “Maybe it’s just impossible for us to ever entirely agree on this, though.”

“Maybe that’s alright, though,” Harry smiles. 

*****

His birthday is on a Monday this year, so Gemma comes to visit for the very last weekend in January to celebrate. And even though Harry’s never been interested in the club scene before, she came well prepared with research on all the best gay spots in Providence to make his twenty-second a night to remember. 

He isn’t feeling very festive this year, but he indulges her out of love and because without her he’d have spent his night playing Switch or something by himself. 

Instead, he ends up at the Dark Lady, surrounded by a handful of his school friends along with a sea of random people in varying shapes, sizes, colors, orientations, and amounts of clothing from the pole dancers in their shiny spanx to the drag queens in full performance attire. 

Gemma rarely gets out to party anymore, so she’s busy having the time of her life, dancing and screaming along to the music while helping Ephie and Ella pour drinks down Harry’s throat faster than he can even swallow them. 

Somewhere around the third (or fourth?) Long Island, Harry actually starts to enjoy himself. He’d thought his black fishnet top against his bare chest might help him blend in and the amount of guys who try to steal a dance with him attest to that. So, while the night began with attempting to dodge them all, he eventually decides to say fuck it and just let himself be moved by the music or whatever they call it. 

“You’re sure this is your first time?” Niall asks as they take a break out front for some fresh air. 

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You just look very comfortable, is all,” Niall laughs. 

“I’m having fun,” Harry shrugs, puffing at the cigarette he bummed from some guy on his way back inside. He doesn’t even smoke, but when in Rome, right?

“Are you?” Niall asks, “This doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

“Why, Niall? Because I’m supposed to be a punk rocker or something?” Harry snaps. He’s not sure where that came from, but the longer the night stretches on, the louder that weird nagging feeling in his chest gets.

If Niall thinks he’s wondering what Louis would think if he could see him now, that’s all his own doing. Because Harry isn’t wondering that at all. And he doesn’t even care that their last real conversation has cemented that it’s officially over between them, that they never really had anything to begin with in the first place, or even that Louis turned down the invitation to come out tonight. It’s all the furthest thing from Harry’s mind.

“Not at all,” Niall chuckles, “Because you’re like, more of a big cuddly nerd is what I meant.”

“I party,” Harry pouts his bottom lip out, then sucks down a drag and coughs around the smoke filling his lungs, dropping the whole stick into an icy puddle at their feet.

Niall just gives him a stern, knowing look. Stupid cigarette smoke burning Harry’s throat at exactly the wrong time. 

“Whatever,” Harry huffs, “Aren’t your west coast bones cold out here anyway? Let’s get back to it.” 

“Look how well you know me, too,” Niall chuckles, happily following Harry’s lead back inside. 

The rest of the night passes in a blur of strobe lights, disco balls, pop playlists, cheering screams, flailing limbs, spilled drinks, and a couple of random kisses or gropes or something in between with a stranger or two? Harry’s head is pounding, heart rushing, memories fuzzing, by the time he, Gemma, and Niall file into their Uber after closing.

“I still wanna suck his dick,” he sighs, leaning against the window in the back seat.

“You can’t go home with a stranger, H. At least not tonight,” Gemma says.

“I deserve birthday sex,” Harry whines anyway. He does.

“Your dearly beloved sister is in town,” she says, “We have brunch plans in the morning.”

“Wanna eat ass for brunch,” Harry giggles to himself. Just Louis’s, though. He’s stupid. He hasn’t been this drunk in a while. And maybe that’s appropriate considering that he broke his own heart earlier this year. But he still misses Louis in all the ways he can’t have him anymore. That’s normal, right? To not be over the relationship that never was?

“He’s definitely not talking about that club dude,” Niall notices.

“Not Louis?” Gemma tries to whisper.

“Not Louis,” Harry pouts, “I’m over it.”

“What you need is to fuck somebody else,” Niall sees right through him.

“Are you offering?”

“Not tonight,” Niall breathes a chuckle through his nose.

“I’m mognonamus, anyway,” Harry says, noticing something doesn’t sound right about that. “Mongonomus. Mognogamus.” 

“Be monogamous for the right person,” Gemma says. 

“Is he with someone else?” Harry pushes himself closer to Niall now. 

“Haven’t seen anyone around,” Niall shrugs. 

“But it doesn’t matter, because you’re over it, right?” Gemma asks. 

“Right,” Harry agrees, “I’m gonna get a puppy.” 

“Puppies are fun,” she grins. 

She’s sweet. He loves her.

But she just doesn’t get it.

**L**

“What’s everyone got planned for Valentine’s weekend?” Harry starts the conversation at the next group hangout a couple weeks after the birthday celebration that he missed.

Louis was invited, but he couldn’t bring himself to go for some reason. It felt like Harry’s thing. Louis did end up getting him a bunch of old _Now That’s What I Call Music_ CDs as a gag gift, because anything else he could think of just seemed a little too significant. And as usual, Louis was trying not to give him the wrong idea. Especially now that they’re not even sleeping together anymore, and things are still kind of weird between them in the friend zone. 

He doesn’t see Harry any more than anyone else these days. There’s the weekly QSA meetings where prom has finally wrapped up planning, so that might lead to even less time together which is good, right? But Harry still comes over at least once a week to see Niall. And everything is cool when it’s just the three of them together. 

Harry doesn’t text him anymore, though. Doesn’t really flirt with him either, and Louis heard that he made out with some guy he was also dancing pretty raunchily with at the club on his birthday, which knocked every ounce of air from his lungs just to imagine, so it’s probably for the best that he didn’t go. 

Anyway, Mario Kart on a friendly hangout night still happens without any issue, and Harry looks lovely as ever. 

Stupid, he means. His stupid curly mullet and his stupid shiny silver septum and thousand little holes in his ears. Stupid ripped band shirts and stupid casual sweats and purple painted toenails. Stupid chiseled arms and stupid pointy jaw and stupid cupid lips.

“Can’t say,” Liam immediately starts grinning, keeping his eyes glued to the colorful tracks on the TVs screen, refusing to look over at his boyfriend sat next to him. The same way Harry very deliberately won’t look at Louis, as if the question wasn’t meant to be a casual feeler for his current romantic status. As if Louis doesn’t know him well enough by now to see what he’s doing.

“I actually met someone,” Niall volunteers.

“Who?” Louis gapes in disbelief. He hasn’t seen anyone around at all.

“His name is Shawn,” Niall says, “It’s new. And I’m completely out of my element here, obviously. But we did confirm that we are spending the day together, so I guess it’s going well.”

“Niall, oh my God,” Louis takes certain liberties as Player One to pause the game so they can all focus their attention on their little Irish friend.

“Are you coming out to us right now?” Zayn gawks.

“Wait, is this the first time you’ve dated a guy?” Harry realizes how juicy it is all of a sudden.

“I mean, it was probably bound to happen someday. All my friends are gay as fuck,” Niall chuckles awkwardly.

“So the agenda is working, then,” Harry laughs at his own joke.

“Where did you meet this guy? And why haven’t you said anything until now?” Louis pouts.

“He’s in my psych class. I didn’t say anything because I thought we were just friends,” Niall shrugs, “Then he asked me out last week, like formally, on a date. And I don’t know why I said yes, but it was fun. When he kissed me, it didn’t feel wrong. I liked it. So… I don’t know. I’m just going with it.”

“Everybody’s in love but me,” Harry pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his bottom lip, “I’m excited for you, of course. But when is my turn coming?”

Louis’s heart responds to that, but he keeps his lips shut at least.

“I am not in love, jeez,” Niall rolls his eyes. “We went on one date. We’re seeing where it goes.”

“Have you ever actually been in love, Harry?” Liam wonders.

He hesitates, and probably doesn’t mean to do so, but his eyes involuntarily flick over to Louis for just the briefest of seconds.

“Once,” Harry says, “But it was high school stuff. Puppy love. I don’t think it really counts.”

“High school love counts,” Zayn says, “It’s a different kind, a very naïve type of love. But it can still be real.”

Louis just stays quiet. He’s simply not imagining any of it. Not Harry’s first kiss or the first time he blushed from someone’s affections or the kind of ridiculous heart pounding, sweaty palms touching of first dates and romances. None of it.

“The only one that counts is the one that lasts,” Harry says.

“I like that,” Niall agrees. “The idea that we’re never really missing out even if it can feel that way sometimes.”

“What about all the experiences with the other people who don’t end up working out, that lead you to be someone who your end game lover can appreciate?” Zayn asks.

“Bullshit,” Harry laughs, earning a snort from Niall and Liam too. “The whole point of love is to grow together.”

“But love isn’t necessarily the end game of life,” Liam offers. “You can still feel like something is missing even when you’re happy with someone.”

“Something you’d like to tell me, love?” Zayn hums, turning his head to face him.

“Not at all,” Liam kisses the tip of his nose, then addresses the group again, “Just trying to lift our single friend’s spirits.”

“Lou, you’re awfully quiet,” Zayn notices then, “Care to chime in?”

“As one of the single friends in question, I feel perfectly fulfilled in life and love and whatever else,” Louis says. It feels heavy coming off his tongue, though. “Harry, how are you doing?”

He meant it to be teasing. Like the two of them could band together and defend the single life together.

Harry just blinks at him for a moment.

“Guess I’m still waiting for my prince charming,” he says. “I’ll probably spend the weekend watching rom coms and crying into a bucket of Ben and Jerry’s or something. Maybe I’ll get really wild and bake some cookies, too. The possibilities are endless.”

“You watch rom coms?” Zayn raises a brow. 

“And regular roms and regular coms, too,” he jokes. “I’ve been told I’m a complete contradiction of my outward expression.”

“Which is really quite judgmental if you ask me…” Niall mimics Harry’s voice in a way that’s too accurate for Louis not to burst out into laughter.

Harry doesn’t find it very funny.

**L**

So they spend the notorious night of romance alone, as far as Louis is aware. All he does is study, make a whole big pot of ramen noodles, down more than a couple beers, watch some soccer, and pass out on the couch with his hand down his pants, anyway. Niall doesn’t end up coming home, so that seems like a good sign for him.

In fact, the majority of Louis’s nights seem to pass that way all of a sudden, what with his roommate being all caught up in his exciting new romance and well, Louis’s schedule suddenly being so open now that Harry isn’t around anymore.

So Harry attends prom with Ella, and that’s fine because they’re only friends. Ella’s always leaned more towards women anyway, so she’s probably not even into Harry like that. And what does it matter to Louis, anyway?

He ends up spending the first portion of the night overseeing operations such as helping admissions go smoothly, then checking on various production teams to make sure they have everything in order, and then just begins to waste his time working the room, greeting people and encouraging them to make use of the refreshments and amenities. Including a photo booth next to the professional photographer which were both a must, and a table setup to vote for their Queer Prom Monarchs; a nice little inclusive twist on the King and Queen of traditional events.

When the night is in full swing and he happens to bump into Harry on his way back to the dance floor, well, that’s just fine too.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry sounds out of breath, somehow. Maybe a little flustered? Surprised? It can’t possibly be Ella who’s got him acting like that, can it?

He looks amazing, though. He’s gone with a bright red suit that has these crazy golden embroidered flames all down the arms and along the front, complete with an intricate back piece too. Black nails, black shoes, black jewelry save for the tiny, iridescent flame dangling from one of his ears, the pop of the gemstones in his Special Ocassion Septum, and the classic white pearls around his neck. Louis has never seen him in any colors besides black, grey, or purple, which seems to make the popping colors of this ensemble all the more magnificent.

How could his date not fall at least a little bit in love with him after tonight? 

“Harry,” Louis nods, trying with every inch of focus he can muster not to break his resolve.

“You look great,” Harry looks him up and down with a hint of something missing from his smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes like usual. It seems listless. 

And Louis is just in a plain white dress shirt paired with some powder blue slacks, anyway. He wondered if he looked more like a cloudy sky than an icy terrain before he left, so Niall pinned a glittering silver rhinestone snowflake brooch just underneath his collar for good measure. He slicked his own hair back for the occasion, of course, but standing in the glow of Harry’s flames, his effort feels meager in comparison. 

“Thanks,” Louis returns the gesture. “You too.” 

Harry’s face falls; scrunches, more like. Distress? Since when did Louis become so concerned with deciphering his every emotion through each little change of his expressions, anyway? 

“I gotta, um. You know? Over there…” Louis nods towards the drink table, then dashes off that way before Harry can find the time to poke fun at him for such a fatally transparent ruse. 

Unfortunately, since the Prom is technically a school affiliated event, they weren’t allowed to spike the punch. Which means Louis is left to down the vodka nip he slid into his pocket before arrival and quickly tuck the empty back away before anyone catches him. Then he holds an empty cup underneath one of the spigots of the classy glass jug and tops that off with another.

“You’re not subtle,” Zayn’s voice startles him from behind. “And this event that you planned, need I remind you, is completely chaperone free. Since we are adults and all.”

“Everyone helped plan,” Louis corrects him, “And there are freshman here, Z. So we have to set an example.”

“You mean like you set an example all over that conservative shit stain’s face a few weeks ago? Or like the example you set at Angel’s party last week when you suggested Shot Pong instead of Beer Pong?” Zayn tips his own cup to his lips. “Think of all the freshman who could’ve followed your lead, then!”

“Whatever,” Louis grumbles, “The school board could easily have me suspended or worse, dethroned from the club for getting minors drunk at a public hotel venue.”

“Relax, it was a joke,” Zayn nudges him in the arm, trying to get him to lighten up. 

It’ll be a while before he feels light again, though. Especially while he has to watch Harry parade around with all his friends and suitors, knowing that he fully tossed his own chance out of a sixteen story window and didn’t bother looking down until it had already shattered against the pavement.

He takes another gulp of his vodka mixture as he watched the two of them glide across the dance floor.

“You’re really just gonna stand here alone all night and try to drink your troubles away, then?” Zayn snaps his attention back.

“As opposed to what?” Louis asks.

“You’re insufferable,” Zayn shakes his head somberly. 

“What did I do?” Louis wonders. 

His longest friend holds his gaze for an even longer speechless but knowing moment. His eyes stray towards Harry and Ella who’ve gone back to laughing together on the dancefloor, then back to him again.

“What exactly is the point of pretending like you’re not every bit as in love with him as he is with you?”

Louis gulps, dropping his gaze down to stare into the red rippling beverage in his cup. “He’s clearly moved on.” 

“With Ella? As if,” Zayn scoffs, “She’s gayer than he is.”

“There was that guy at the club,” Louis says, “I mean, I heard. Or even just, you know, life in general. My point is that he’s obviously fine without me.” 

“Well, of course he’s _fine_. You’re _fine_ without him, too,” Zayn says, “The world’s not gonna stop turning just because you two aren’t together, but wouldn’t you rather be better than just fine?” 

“I don’t know the first thing about being in love,” Louis tries again, “And with Harry? We’re supposed to hate each other.” 

“Says who?” Zayn asks. “Nobody knows what they’re doing. You just find somebody you like and make it work.”

“Like Niall,” Louis lets his eyes search the floor for yet another happy couple.

“Like Niall,” Zayn agrees. 

Louis pictures it. Not the big picture, just yet. Maybe he isn’t quite ready for that. But he does like the image of the two of them, embracing each other on the floor. The idea of leaning in and laying his head against his chest again. The Gucci perfume. The warm beat of a particular heart pumping in his ears. The way he’d lay his cheek against the top of Louis’s hair, the way their hands could find each other’s like a homing device that’s finally returned to where it belongs. The way his world could so easily begin to make some semblance of sense again. If he’d just let it. If Harry still wants all of that, too.

He tilts the edge of his cup against his lips to chug down the rest of his drink, then swallows the lump in his chest as he tosses it to the trash and heads towards the mismatched pair.

“Excuse me, Ella,” Louis taps her on the shoulder, “I was wondering if I could steal your date for a moment? It seems I forgot to bring my own.”

With anyone else, it would be rude to even consider butting in like this. But Ella knows the history between them and, like everyone else on Earth, apparently, is more than happy to push them together. So she simply smiles and steps away to give them room.

“About damn time,” she berates as she gestures him to take her place, “You’re extremely late, ya know. We were starting to wonder if you’d even show at all.”

“Thanks, Ella, I can take it from here now,” Louis grits his teeth. 

“Can you?” She cackles dramatically as she saunters off into the icy crowd to give them some much needed privacy. It’s been weeks since they’ve had a single moment alone together, and suddenly the weight of the that sets in with her absence. Louis again, swallows his nerves and tries to act casual about it.

“What are you doing?” Harry blinks his confusion as their hands instinctually slide together.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” Louis says, falling right into step with the same ease, “It just didn’t feel right for me to be here… without you, I guess.”

“Does this mean you’re accepting the invitation to be my date?” Harry lets the smile spread over his face, bringing the dimples to life.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“We’ll have to get our photo taken to commemorate,” Harry teases.

“I regret it,” Louis quips back, earning a soft little chuckle from his _date_.

“This is nice,” Harry says after a few awkward moments. “Did you go to your high school prom?”

“Oh yeah,” Louis remembers, “Me and my girlfriend at the time, Hannah.”

“Hannah?” Harry inflects, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. “But you’re so…”

“Flamboyant?” Louis supplies.

“That’s the word,” Harry chuckles.

“Which is precisely why nobody was surprised when my next relationship was with a guy,” Louis smiles softly with the memory. “We had fun, though. It was a good night. Still speak to her out of nostalgia once in a blue moon.”

“That’s sweet,” Harry smiles along with him.

“Who did you go with?”

“Felicity Skinner,” Harry hums, but he doesn’t offer anything more.

“Oh?” Louis nudges, “Is that the puppy love you mentioned before?”

“Funny how you pay more attention to me when I kick you to the curb,” Harry notices.

“I’m a glutton for punishment,” Louis shrugs, “Now tell me all about this other woman.”

“There’s not much to say,” he chuckles, “It was a typical prom night. We got all dressed up, danced, took pictures, met up with friends. Nothing too memorable.”

“No deflowerings after the fact?” Louis jokes, but he’s surprised to find that he actually is curious.

“No,” Harry laughs, “We’d already done that long before prom night.”

“Harold, you dog,” Louis drops his jaw.

“Teenagers,” Harry shrugs.

Silence lapses between them after that. The song ends and something else romantic starts up, something slow and familiar.

_You’re just too good to be true_

_Can’t take my eyes off of you…_

_You’d_ _be like heaven to touch_

_I wanna hold you so much…_

Louis lets his jaw hang open just slightly, turning over his shoulder to give Liam a glare as Harry alights with laughter. 

Liam grins from his seat behind the DJ table, where Zayn has gone to join him. They both give an encouraging thumbs up.

“Is it just me or does this song remind you of that Heath Ledger scene?” Louis turns back to his date, already suspecting Harry must know exactly what he’s talking about.

“From _Ten Things I Hate About You,_ ” Harry chuckles with a nod, “Yeah, I love that movie. Just watched it the other day.”

“Did you by any chance, happen to mention that to DJ Liam?”

“I did, in passing,” Harry settles into a grin, glowing underneath the low lighting above.

“At least we don’t have to worry about earning our friend’s approval,” Louis acquiesces.

Harry just hums, letting their synchronized swaying to the beat speak for itself. 

Louis, own heart pounding all the way up to his ears, takes the opportunity to live out his fantasy. He leans in to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry follows suit by tilting his to meet the top of Louis’s head.

Nothing has ever felt more perfect in his entire life.

They end the song that way, and the night parties on. The next few are dance numbers to get the whole crowd moving. They find their friends and dance around, fill up on refreshments, and take pictures as promised. There’s also a photo booth where they can get some silly ones done along with a whole make out reel, too. Harry tucks that one into his pocket and some part of Louis is sure that he’ll be able to find it displayed somewhere in his room in the near future.

“Good evening, guys, gals, and non-binary pals!” Ephie addresses them from the front stage setup sometime later, just before the night begins to wind down. The music cuts in unison with the crowd turning their attention forwards.

“I hope you’ve all been enjoying yourself tonight,” she pauses to allow a cheer to roar through the hall, “And I hope everyone had a chance to cast their vote for the evening’s Monarchs, because voting is officially closed.”

A low chuckle swims through the area.

“Who’d you vote for?” Harry’s lips find the shell of his ear to whisper against them.

“Committee members aren’t allowed,” Louis lies. Some part of him doesn’t want Harry to know he didn’t vote for him. And isn’t that quite the new development?

“Bullshit. I voted,” Harry says.

“You’re a delinquent,” Louis reminds him.

“And you’re a liar.”

Perhaps one of the biggest of all time. He managed to convince himself he wasn’t totally head over heels in love with Harry, anyway. With that kind of ability, he’d be hard pressed to find something he can’t lie his way out of.

“I voted for Zayn,” he admits.

“What?” Harry chuckles, “I feel like getting on stage to accept an award in front of all these people would be his worst nightmare.”

“Exactly,” Louis grins.

“But I’m the delinquent?” 

“Obviously,” he maintains, “Who’d you vote for?” 

“You,” Harry says.

“Seriously?” Louis twists around to look him in the eye. “Why?”

“I’m kidding,” Harry chuckles, “I just wanted to see your reaction. I’ve missed watching you squirm.” 

“See? Delinquent!” Louis playfully smacks his arm, heart secretly erupting with affection. 

“I voted for Ephie,” he says, “She loves this stuff. And she worked so hard to make sure everything came together perfectly. I mean, we all did, but you know how she gets.” 

“That’s why she’s in charge,” Louis nods, turning his attention back to the woman in question. 

“That being said,” they both tune back in with perfect timing, “Our first Monarch of the night is…” she pauses for Niall to execute the drum roll on his knees as she opens the envelope, “Aw, give it up for one of my personal favorites! Harry Styles, come get your crown!”

Louis isn’t even surprised. He’s not sure he has room for any other emotion besides pure, unabashed joy left for the night. He just grins as the room bursts out into applause.

Harry’s face widens into a look of genuine shock. He clearly didn’t realize the extent to which people have fallen in love with him since his arrival, but nonetheless he accepts with grace. Not without a quick kiss for Louis’s lips before he makes his way through the crowd. 

And that. 

That would be their first real kiss. The photo booth doesn’t feel like it counts as much, since that was just between them. But that little gesture was their first public, non-sexual acknowledgement of each other in a significant way.

Until Harry is standing in the spotlight for his acceptance speech; golden embroidery glittering in competition with the jewel in his nose, the whites of his smile, and the cheap plastic tiara that Ephie nestles into his curls.

“Wow, uh, I have no idea what to say,” he clears his throat against the mic, “So, I guess I’ll just keep it simple and thank everyone who voted. I’m so glad you all seem to enjoy my presence so much.”

He gives the slightest of bows before heading towards the side of the stage, but after only a few steps he jukes back to reach for the mic again. 

“Oh, and I’d also like to personally thank my _date_ , Louis Tomlinson,” he looks out to point directly at Louis, who places a single hand to his forehead in his grinning bashfulness as the spotlight finds him in the crowd. “Not for voting for me or anything, because apparently he didn’t even do that! But just for being here with me. And being such a crucial part in the planning of this event, and uh, just making my first year here one to remember.”

“Alright, pack it up, Corny Collins,” Ephie says as she confiscates the mic from him, “Anyway! Onto the next Monarch of the night!”

It ends up being her own self. Thankfully, because Louis can’t think of a single pair who deserve it more than the two of them. Of course he has a healthy amount of love for the rest of his friends, but those two were born to be in the limelight.

They both smile and hug each other and pose for pictures in their matching tiaras, and it seems like most of the attendees must have been waiting for the big moment to start shuffling out of the dance hall, onto their after parties and such.

It all just feels so seamless and easy. Louis wonders why he spent so long thinking the adjustment from whatever they had before to this night of coupley business would be any degree of difficult. Maybe at some point it would’ve been, back when they were still in the thick of it, but by the end of the night it’s began to set in that of course all their friends would maintain that the two of them were barely steps away from being an actual couple for so long. They basically were.

“You guys coming to hang out at mine? VIPs only,” Marshal catches up to the group just outside the stage.

“We’re pretty tired after all the setup and stuff, you know? Plus, we’ll have to be here bright and early to start cleaning tomorrow,” Louis only half lies. They hired a cleanup service with the remaining funds they had leftover, because executing the whole event had been enough of an ordeal that getting to just enjoy themselves was the end goal.

Marshal doesn’t know that, though.

“You can just say you’d rather go home and fuck,” he laughs, “Although that’s never stopped you at my house before!”

“Or any public party,” Ephie snorts.

“Bye, Marshal! Bye, Ephie! Bye, everyone! Love you!” Harry is the one to roll his eyes this time as he laces his fingers with Louis and leads them in the opposite direction.

While they wait in the lobby for their Uber to bring them home, Harry just slumps into a seat and stares out the window, watching groups of other people in their fancy gear hug each other goodnight and disperse towards their homes. Some hand in hand, like the two of them were lucky enough to spend most of the night, others simply engulfed in a swarm of laughter and smiles.

“Something on your mind?” Louis notices, taking the seat directly next to him.

Harry looks over, something on the edge of torture behind his eyes.

“I’m just not ready for this night to end,” he says, punctuating with a sigh as he props his head up with his arm, “I’m kind of afraid that you’ll wake up tomorrow and change your mind.”

Louis blinks, having expected nearly anything but that. Maybe because the thought of that happening hadn’t even occurred to him. 

He loves Harry. That’s why everything happened between them the way it did. He didn’t want to love Harry at first, but then things spiraled to landing them in bed together, to them getting to know each other, until all the other parts of Louis’s life began to feel like filler between the time they spent with each other. Even when it was weird, it was never hard to be purely themselves with one another.

He reaches out to curl his palm against Harry’s cheek, then leans in to press their lips softly together. When they part, he rests his forehead on Harry’s.

“I decided I’ve changed my mind about you enough already,” he says.

“Sure, and when did you decide that?” 

“When I kicked Ella out of my rightful place as your dance partner.”

Harry gives him a half assed smile. It’s frightfully clear that he wants to be more satisfied with that answer than he actually is.

“Alright Pouty, cancel our ride home,” Louis says.

“Huh?”

“Just do it. I’ll Venmo you if there’s a fee.” 

Twenty minutes later, they’ve rounded the corner and emerged from the heavy door atop a building that overlooks the whole city skyline.

The air is thin and icy, and although they’ve both got their suit jackets still on, the wind cuts right through them. He can’t speak for Harry, but the goosebumps rise on his own arms. 

The image is just as breathtaking as he remembers, though. 

“Oh my God,” Harry gasps as it all comes into view, wandering over to the brick wall around the edge to lean his palms against it for maximum landscape view. “Louis, it’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” He hums in satisfaction, having executed his plan to woo Harry just as beautifully. “I hadn’t even thought of this spot in ages, but when you mentioned not wanting the night to end it reminded me of the perfect place to feel endless and invincible.”

“Hello, are you a writer all of a sudden?” Harry jokes. “That was poetic as fuck.”

“Thank you?” Louis laughs, coming to join Harry in leaning over the edge. He was just trying to articulate the way it feels to have a bird’s eye view of the city you call your own. To know exactly all the places you’re looking at and be able to picture each little speck of light dotting the building below, but it still feels like an alien city. Untouchable.

It’s uncannily reminiscent of only one other thing Louis can think of. 

“I used to come here a lot when I first moved to the city. It always made me feel like time would stretch on forever,” he goes on to explain, borderline rambling now, stalling, dancing around the words he has to say, the thing he knows Harry needs to hear. Deserves to hear.

“I can see why,” Harry breathes in awe, so clearly not having caught on to where Louis is trying to steer him.

“I wanted to share that feeling with you, Harry,” Louis swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat, “Because, you know. I love you, or whatever. And I just. Want you to know that.”

_Stupid! What was that? Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He can feel Harry’s eyes from the exact moment he turns to look at Louis’s side profile, one of them too fucking dumbfounded by his own stupidity to make eye contact. A chill runs down his spine as if a gust of cold air had blown through, but it’s just his own nerves firing off.

“You love me or whatever?” Harry asks. But his voice has the high tinge to it, the teasing one he’s always saved for when he’s just reveling in the fact that Louis is flustered or angry or otherwise lost control of his composure.

“This is exactly what happens when you try to squeeze some romance out of me,” Louis grumbles, face burning in contrast to the wintry night, still refusing to look him in the eyes. Too busy wishing he could simply dissolve into dust and float off into the night air instead.

“You brought me here,” Harry reminds him, chuckling. “You started waxing poetic about the skyline. This was all your doing.”

“Because I know you’ve been foaming at the mouth to hear me verbally affirm my feelings for you,” Louis can’t help the way his voice rises in panic as he finally turns to raise his brows at Harry now.

Why hasn’t he said it back yet? Does he not even feel that seriously about it? Maybe Louis vastly overestimated where this was going and he’s just made a total fool of himself and set them back even farther than when the night began. What a fucking nightmare.

“So you do have feelings for me,” Harry smirks, highlighting his whole face from the pinkened rounds of his cheeks, the dimples, the glittering gems in his nose and his eyes, Emerald gems of their own. “I knew it all along.”

“I just said I love you, you asshole,” Louis scrunches his brows together, frustrated.

“After bringing me to the most romantic spot you could think of,” Harry simply acknowledges.

“Exactly!” Louis shrieks.

_Why hasn’t he said it back yet?!_

“And it is very romantic,” Harry’s still just standing there in his stupid fire suit with his stupid grin, moonlight illuminating the stupid outline of his stupid face and the stupid frame of his whole stupid body.

“I take it back, actually. I hate you again,” Louis turns back to face the city, rock fully dropping into the pit of his stomach.

“No, you don’t. You love me,” Harry teases.

Louis doesn’t confirm or deny. This is why it’s better to pretend you don’t like somebody at all than to get caught up in showing verbal affections.

“And you already know I’m in love with you, too,” Louis feels the goosebumps rise all over his arms as the cold touch of Harry’s fingers brush over the back of his neck, bringing both of Harry’s hands down to secure in a V across his chest; the weight of Harry’s body resting against Louis’s back, chin nestled on top of Louis’s head.

“In love?” Louis teases, though it comes out sounding more like a squeak as his heart pounds to the sound of it. _I’m in love with you, too._ “That’s some pretty serious shit.”

“It is,” Harry hums, the sound of it vibrating through him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of commitment…” Louis starts to joke, trailing off with the inflection of his tone.

“Lou?” 

“Hm?”

“Just let yourself enjoy the moment,” Harry says.

Louis cracks a tiny smile. Their usual banter having run its course, Harry’s able to see right down to what he really needs. Which is just to relax and enjoy the moment. Because he admitted to falling for Harry and the world didn’t end, Harry didn’t run away, and nothing changed. Because Harry loves him back.

And because after a whole year of tension, uncertainty, and the agony of missing all their pieces, the warm peace that cocoons the two of them atop a city lit rooftop in the depths of winter is more than earned and well worth absorbing while it lasts.

**H**

When they end up collapsing into bed later, their lips magnet together without a word of indication, and they smile into it.

“You are the best thing that’s happened to me,” Harry whispers it against Louis’s ear as things heat up and he pulls Louis’s chest against his own, presses a hand at the curve of his back to keep him there. His whole body feels like the sun, hot and sweaty and too blinding to look directly into. Harry just buries his face into the crook of Louis’s shoulder and neck instead, pushing his hips upwards as if he can bury himself any deeper inside his walls, too. 

“You’re…” Louis gasps, trying to find the words or maybe the will to articulate what he’s slowly come to realize, “Jesus, Harry—ah!”

“Oh, I’m Jesus now, am I?” Harry hums against his skin, swirling his hips upwards again for more friction. Louis half chuckles at his lame attempt of a joke.

The way he grips Harry’s roots and pulls his head up to face him is new, but so is all of it. The way Louis looks at him like a constellation, busy connecting the dots, so focused and yet so awed. Like he’s finally letting himself be open about all the things he’s always felt and it’s just rippling out into every facet of his existence.

The way it’s never felt like this between them. Never so silent and yet the loudest thing on earth. Never so slow, never so careful. This time isn’t carnal desire, it’s diving into the deepest, unexplored caverns of someone’s essence and still trying to continue further. It’s risking his life in the eternity of space, needing to know and see and breathe so much more that it doesn’t matter if he dies never knowing fresh air again. This _is_ the fresh air. 

And when it’s done, Louis slumps forward onto Harry’s chest while they rock each other through it, and then their bodies relax down onto the mattress as one.

**L**

“Does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now?” Harry asks lazily, cuddling his face into Louis’s shoulder.

“At least take me out first,” Louis mumbles back.

“I’ve been trying,” Harry’s chuckle is light and loopy as his eyes flutter shut, “It’s your turn to come to me now.”

“Can’t I just come with you instead?” Louis nudges them open again. 

“I’ve taught you so well,” Harry smiles, stretching his neck out for a kiss. 

When they part, Louis still lulls into their sweet silence for another moment before he decides, “You can call me your boyfriend.”

Of course he can. After everything they went through to end up in this moment? Harry can have anything he wants.

“Well, you can’t call me yours until you pop the question,” Harry teases, but he’s lapsed back into half-sleep again and his tone is warm as his skin.

“By that logic I’m still single, but you’re not,” Louis jokes, “That’s pretty much ideal for me anyway.” 

Harry slaps an open palm against Louis’s pec. 

“Kidding,” Louis pushes the loose curls off Harry’s forehead, tracing the line of his face, around the swell of his cheeks, the cut of his nose, the metal ring just above his lip, and the curve of those too. “Harrison Styles, will you be my boyfriend? Officially.”

“First, I feel like I should make sure that you know my name isn’t actually short for anything,” Harry checks his eyes for any hit of seriousness.

“Of course I know that, Henry,” Louis grins, waiting for Harry to match him.

“Love you,” Harry’s voice is raspy and soft in a way that Louis has never heard before, seeing as they always used to run away from each other as soon as the orgasms ended. 

But now they get to have this; the sleepy voices, the mindless cuddles, the sweet proclamations, and the promise of waking in the morning light with the only warm body he’d want to share his bed with anyway.

“You too,” Louis hums, letting himself drift off to meet his boyfriend in their dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for your time and energy. I love you all :) x
> 
> Please take a moment to leave kudos, comments, [reblogs](https://princesshalo.tumblr.com/post/636331330169389056) and [RTs](https://twitter.com/blficfest/status/1333863443313487872?s=21) if you enjoyed the ride. To me and every author I've ever known, it means the world. <3
> 
> Of course, feel free to come have a chat with me as well. I love hearing from you all! 
> 
> Until next time, my dears!


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